Commuting

Slide on over, baby.
Slide on over slow.
We’re about to miss our exit.
I don’t know where to go.

Move on over, baby.
Move on over fast.
There’s a tanker truck a comin’
I’m fixin’ to get passed.

Drive on over, baby.
Drive on to this song.
I’ve never seen such traffic.
It’s rush hour all day long.

Roll on over, baby.
You know my heart’s on fire.
There’s a pothole in the roadway,
And I’m about to lose a tire.

Glide on over, baby.
Glide on ’til you see.
There’s a thousand cars around here,
They’re all aiming straight at me.

Speed on over, baby.
Speed up as you drive.
I saw a sign back over,
That says go sixty-five.

Look on over, baby.
Look across your dash.
There’s a bunch of angry people.
They must have had a crash.

Slide on over, baby.
Slide on to arrive.
By the time they finish building,
I’ll be too old to drive.

Woof. Woof. Woof.
Oh. God. No. It’s Monday.
Four out of five dogs are asleep.
One Shih-Tzu without a snooze button.

I did not have enough fun this weekend
To explain feeling this bad right now.
How am I hung-over without drinks?
Time to find my motivation.

A shower always helps.
Except on Mondays.
On Mondays, it just makes you damp.
Maybe I should work at home.

Let’s see. It’s ten after seven.
Meetings start at nine.
So, I’m already late for work.
I hate Dallas traffic.

I would just call in sick, but
I’m not in third grade anymore,
And Mom wouldn’t come make soup.
(She didn’t last Monday, anyway.)

Spousal Unit just reminded me
That her first appointment is at noon.
She will be back in bed before I leave.
I will poison her coffee on the way out.

It’s time to go.

Blind John Ellsworth