Running Late
 
 


by Kenn Nesbitt
 
   
I overslept. I’m running late.
My mom is making such a fuss.
If I so much as hesitate
I probably will miss the bus.

 

I grab my socks and underwear
and quickly pull on all my clothes.
I haven’t time to comb my hair
or brush my teeth or blow my nose.

 

I wolf my breakfast, kiss my mom,
and barrel madly out the door.
I’m feeling anything but calm.
I’ve never been this late before.

 

I run like crazy down the street.
I check my watch. It’s almost eight.
I wish I’d had some more to eat,
but, man, I simply can’t be late.

 

I barely make it there in time.
To miss the bus would not be cool.
I wouldn’t mind except that I’m
the guy who drives the kids to school.

 

Text © Kenn Nesbitt, published by Meadowbrook Press.

Any copying or use of this poem without consent is unlawful.

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