A Poem for the Punctually Challenged
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A Poem for the Punctually Challenged
I'm late.
Always late.
I was late from the time I was scheduled to be ejected from the womb
I am always the last person to enter a room.
I'm late like Princess Diana
I'm late like a bruised banana
Late like emergency crews to Louisiana
Late like that government cheque that still hasn't arrived
Me being on time would simply be contrived.
I'm late like Britney Spears's aunt Flow
Late like this winters first fall of snow
I'm late
It's just me, I'm not gonna change
So don't try to convert me
or my manner to re-arrange
I'm strange
I don't like clocks, time or what it stands for
Time to me, is one giant fucking metaphor
For order, and control, and quantifying lives
Just thinking about it makes me break out in hives
I get stressed when I think about being late
Wondering who, this time will become irate
Because HOLY FUCK, Selina's late
And the meeting was at Eight
And now it's Eight thirty, the world's gonna end
And this'¦ is something I'll never transcend
Because I just can't do it
I don't know why
It's part of who I am so I'm not gonna lie
If you tell me you want me there at Eight
I hope you have the wisdom to really mean Nine
Because I need that hour of buffer time
Because this is just me
My human design
I'm late'¦
Late like OJ to the prison cell
Late like Saddam Hussein's arrival in Hell
It's not a tactic to rebel
So stop looking at your watch and chill
I'll be there soon with lines to kill.
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Comment by: Apothy - 2007-09-13 22:38
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| I found it very amusing, I loved it, good work. |
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| Ridiculous and fantastic. Thank you. |
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