A Day To Forget

I sit at my desk on a hot August day,

wondering whether to write or to play

Mystery Manor or 100 Floors,

or get on my bike and enjoy the outdoors.

The beach--it is beckoning, three blocks away;

my story revisions can wait a whole day.

I put on my suit and slather the lotion,

I grab up my chair and head to the ocean.

I sigh in content as I sit on the sand,

a best selling mystery in one of my hands.

A sea gull does fly overhead and then swoops,

and decides it is time to take a good poop.

It splatters my arm and the pages are struck;

I don't need this type of so-called good luck.

I pack up my things and head off of the beach,

and stumble and fall and let out a loud screech.

I arise from the sand looking quite like

chicken that's breaded (to observers' delight).

On returning back home, I look at the date--

my work was due yesterday; now it's too late.

--Anne Skalitza, 2013