Excuses

the dog Charley ate my poem that's what my excuse is the wind flew it down my street the same place that my muse is my boss said "get back to work NOW!" "the deadline is here for your idea", I'd like to get it, but don't know how now I'm lookin' for some panacea I was standin' with my stanza and I dropped it down the john my face flushed, so did the rhyme tried to get it back, but - it's gone the organ grinder with his monkey came walking down our quiet street turned tranquility into a noted din made my mind run in full retreat then I walked down that same road on my way to this very recital a big guy came up said "hand it over" now I'm empty-handed despite all of these excuses that I need to explain I've wracked my brain, tipped toward insane I'll never have a creative thought again! can someone actually have a mental sprain? my best friend, at least I thought so "be a pal, just lemme borrow it" he says, told me he'd only need it for a day or two that's the honest truth of what my excuse is © Goode Guy 2012-04-22