This will be a busy week.
As I paddle up Shitz’ Creek.
I hope everything will go well.
Since lately things have gone to Hell.

Paul said it’s just Another Day.
We’re almost to the month of May.
I’m running out of good ideas.
What else rhymes with “flour tortillas”?

One more poem to make the month.
However, nothing rhymes with month.
I guess I need another word.
Luckily, none of this gets heard.


Walking down the Seco Creek,
Searching for my dreams.
They’ve dried up, like all this sand,
Like so many other streams.

Wondering where I went wrong,
And what I could have changed.
I’m at the age where it’s too late,
For my life to be rearranged.

Maybe the secret is to settle,
Just accept what’s done is done.
Your dreams may all have passed away,
But there’s still time to have some fun.