This Sonnet Is Sort Of Late For A Lot Of Good Reasons

If there was an event at all today
That could be called important, I missed out.
Between my cold and new home's disarray,
Deliveries and running all about
Cheyenne on errands, I lost track of time,
I missed the news and missed all of the tweets
That are these days more timely, for my dime,
Than any broadcast show or scandal sheets.
I got a lot accomplished, I may claim.
My kitchen's up and running and I bought
A lot of little things I shall require
A smoke detector -- no, I had one not --
A freezer and the all-important fire
Extinguisher. I'll take on faith that no
Attacks, impacts or meltdowns happened. though.

In Which I Ponder How My 90th Birthday Passed And No One Sent Me A Card...

My books and furniture and chattels, all,
I trundled down steep stairs into a truck
In nineteen hours with a short break to scrawl
My name on many forms. I soon was struck
With pains in knees and forearms and my back,
And in the tissues nestled in between.
My new house is a wonder - I've lost track
Of just how oft I've said so; my joy's keen.
But suddenly I move as though old age
Did overtake me roughly in my sleep.
And spent this morning crying out in rage,
Because I couldn't find my keys, and keep
Forgetting where I'll find my underwear.
I'm living through a pre-senescent scare.

In Which I Actually Use Sonnet-Writing As An Excuse To Take A Break

The Uhaul truck is nowhere close to full.
I hate the sight of boxes and dolly.
Like Sissyphus I push and then I pull.
I'm glad, though, that my border collie
In Saratoga with my parents waits
Until this madness has come to an end.
Between my loads, I check Twitter updates
And check outside to see if I've a friend
(A local one, that is) who's shown up yet
To help or at least talk to me a bit
And earn the beer I bought. C'mon, no sweat,
I tell myself, self-pity is just shit!
Your house awaits, you, homeowner, just think!
And in that house, O glory - stuff to drink!

I Do Not Beat My Mom, But I Don't Turn Down Her Offers Of Assistance Either

Like Coraline, I found a secret drawer
While starting to pack up my kitchen gear.
I have a turkey lacing kit? What's more,
A blender part and more spoons did appear!
Oh, moving house is ever so much fun,
Especially when one works by oneself.
In candour I've become nearly undone,
Since ne'er did I find magic packing elf.
So to my rescue came my own dear Mom
To help me keep on track and pack more smart.
Alas, before one hour had passed her palm
And face and knee and pride, but not her heart
Were torn and bleeding. Yes, she took a spill
On ice and asphalt. Yet she helps me still!

Is This Really Happening? To Me?

At what point may I start to say "it's mine,"
About this house I put my offer on?
It's been accepted, that part went just fine.
Does that mean the conclusion is foregone?
The underwriter still could turn me down;
The plumber or electrician could say
No way is this OK, not in this town.
But, for that matter, it could blow away
Should a freak cyclone rip on through that street.
The cyclone is more likely, my pros say
(My Realtor and mortgage lady sweet).
They told me to switch over my accounts
And have a moving crew ready to pounce.

In Which I Muse on the Penalty for Pack-Rattery

I've lived in this apartment for five years.
Well short this is of the old psalmist's span.
The volume of the stuff that here appears
Belies that some. To move, I need a plan.
The Collyer brothers would be right at home
In here, but they might find it much too clean.
The jumble though, through which I now must comb
Would be to them a most familiar scene.
For what I lack in high newspaper tow'rs
I make up for in furniture and books;
To say naught of the clothing heaped in bow'rs
By my dog, or the gadgetry for cooks.
I start to pack and then I lose the heart,
Still paralyzed on how or where to start.

Really, I Don't Go to the Liquor Store THAT Often

With any luck, I will be moving soon,
With moving comes a special moving need
For boxes, for to transport all that's strewn
About my home, that's mostly stuff to read.
So to the liquor store I went today
That I might start to clear out all the nooks
And crannies that I'm not ashamed to say
Are piled from floor to ceiling with my books.
Booze boxes are the greatest far and wide
For moving out the contents of bookshelves.
A store of boxes e'er is laid aside
For patrons such as I to help themselves.
And so I did, but was ashamed to find,
I'd grabbed the wrong ones, but they didn't mind.