A Pathetic Whiner Keyboards an Ode on Indolence in a Keatsian Stanza

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This sad Saturday morn I wake in dread

of a task as loathsome as burying a pet.

So here I lie with covers over my head –

slothful, fretting, temporizing, and yet,

getting it done is what I got to do.

Oh, god, how dreary, stale and dull seems

to me the task of assessing research essays.

I’d rather suffer a case of the Hong Kong flu,

give my signed Hemingway away,

than put my pen to -oh – those wretched reams!

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