I run the
clock. I bide my time.
The Great Procrastinator I’m.
I hesitate
(though I’m not lost).
I drag my feet at any cost.
I
shilly-shally, I defer.
I play the waiting game, for sure.
I stall. I
drag. I temporize.
I’m one of those “retarded” guys.
I’m quite the
goldbrick, I’ll be bound.
I give all work the runaround.
Each room I haunt's a waiting room.
“NosSlomo” is my nom
de plume.
I loiter. I put
off. I pause.
I filibuster – all because,
inevitably, I
postpone.
Good golly, how the time has flown!
Uly Poe pens dogg'rel verse. "'Tis fun," hums Uly, "I disburse." The gamut runs from bad to worse. The matter treated...? Quite diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a blessing largely. (Not a curse.)
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