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Poetry of 2006/07 by Donna Flood
Gramma's Lament for a Lost Sunday


Every lost day must come to and end,
"Ha! Ha!  I laugh, my friend."
This was a day without win.
Let's see what were they all,
These events with stories tall?
First thing I'm all ready for services,
Suddenly there is this nervousness.
Where is my wallet carrying licenses?
High and low we search until we ask,
The two year old, taking him to task.
"Did you hide Gramma's billfold."
"Yes, I did," he told.
"Where did you put it now?"
"I don't know,"  he can't remember,  some how.
Finally,  we found it sandwiched between magazines
Not in his back pocket where he pats his jeans.
By this time, I've missed the services for heart,
How will I face the next week with not a start?
Next I had to keep an appointment at an art show,
Of the hanging few people seemed to know.
We several stood sipping juice and nibbling macaroons,
Until I felt like a total buffoon.
Next off to lunch with folks I didn't know
Eating food, half cooked and it was slow.
Maybe a discussion over values of different nothing,
Until my body is like a turkey with stuffing,
Then home to a place of dark hiding,
Home free, I came in sliding.
"Is it over yet?"  I cry and whimper,
"Not until you jounal, don't simper."


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