Momentary Relief: A worrier’s poem
You just sit there, waiting.
Waiting… Waiting.
Why is this happening to me? you ask.
Your gaze directed up.
Am I stressed?
Depressed?
Something definitely feels oppressed…
Inside me.
Thought I’ll be in and out in a flash.
But alas!
Still sitting here,
Longing for a splash.
Groaning and moaning,
Your eyes are turning red.
You curse...
And then: KLOPS!
Yes,
you may smile for a while...
But then you pray
you haven't popped a pile.