Gary Snyder, a local poet, has a poem that I cannot find. But in this alleged poem he writes:
I've had a problem for a few months now. There is a hole in the ceiling and roof over my bed, and when it rains, water drips on to my face and pillow. After months of irritation, I fixed the problem, I moved my bed.
Today, I finally replaced my front right headlight.
posted by Jeff @ 7:37 PM
3 Comments:
"There's a hole in the bucket,
Dear Liza, Dear Liza,
There's a hole in the bucket,
Dear Liza, a hole."
I have a rendition of that song follows my parents arguments.
"You're a blockhead, dear Peter, dear Peter,
You don't understand me, dear Maxy, dear Maxy."
Well, at least you managed to get the leftover Ethiopian food out first. Can you imagine how bad that would have been by now? *Shudder Shudder*
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