If you were me, what would you be? Would you be recounting?
Lying on the carpet with my box of scrap-metal matchbox cars,
counting blocks and abacus beads for counting
that never did me much good later on in bars.
Today, I thought to myself as I was happily driving along
how great life is and how thinking otherwise is, well, wrong.
The weather hadn’t made up its mind, a little sun, a little grey.
Just like when I’ve not been able to make up mine, with forecasts for the day.
So, back home and ranking favourite songs
while listening to the radio,
I’m scribbling down something as a mental note to not forget;
Try not to get wound up and try not to get low.
This is an out-of-the-blue diary entry (when keeping one does its bit).
If you’re not guilty of reading it, I shouldn’t be strung up for writing it.
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Author: aprettykettleofpoetry
