Barbecue? No, Skewered.

Whoosh!
As I leave the office door,
dust kicks up from dusty floor.
Three days of nothing must I do
and through that office door I flew.

Whoosh!
Screeching down the road I drove
parked the car and out I dove
in my house where freedom waits
just beyond the iron gate.

Remote control in my right hand,
I have finally found the promised land.

Whoosh!
The wife appears with mop in tow.
Says I should go outside and mow.
Says I to wife, “Oh God, hell no!”
Can’t you see my favorite show???

Whoosh!
“The barbecue is needing cleaning.”
“The bathroom toilet is a-leaking.”
“Take this mop and grab a pail
clean up for the big yard sale.”

Whoosh!
All my dreams for sloth’s delight
leave me swiftly for the night.
Thoughts of lounging in my den –
replaced with errands for pecked hen.

Memorial day weekend’s promise brings
nothing but forbidden thoughts of barbecued things.

Owen

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