I really oughta write,

Maybe before tonight,

Or tomorrow morning,

Just to give myself some warning…

I really oughta take flight,

And of a poem write,

Before I go to fly a kite,

And let the wind blow it outtasight…

What the hell is this poem about,

I write it while my window I look out,

Had my dinner, still bored to sin,

No place to go, no money to spend,

Actually, for me, that might be considered a win-win…

Golf carts, in the campground, the main of transportation mode,

Don’t want one unless it comes with its own commode,

And one can’t drive them on the main road,

What good are they, might as well stay home in my little abode…