And they make me realize
That a pill
Has a will!...
Once a pill wants to explore
What is on the kitchen floor,
It slips out of my fingers,
Hidden, in a dark place lingers,
And, once it hits the ground,
It simply cannot be found,
Until in a few days
It appears somewhere far away!
I could swear
I had looked there!
That’s my pills’ peculiar saga,
And sometimes it drives me ga-ga
*
Tools
Are fools!
I recall when, in the past,
When I used the item last,
Putting it where it belongs,
I swear I don’t have it wrong!
But when I need a clamp or hammer,
I may curse and I may stammer,
It has wandered from its drawer
To quite another, where it glowers,
When I manage to locate it,
And, frustrated, I berate it!
Why can’t tools just stay in place
And display some common grace,
Instead of causing great commotion
with their errant locomotion?
Or is it simply a result
Of my memory at fault?