Sometimes making up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. This
poem, which I first published in 2007, tells the all-too-true story. Here’s
what happened, one morning, as I tried to make up some time during my daily
commute to the office. At the time, this experience cast a shadow on my
employment and perhaps caused me to blush.
Making up time
Rushed for work and out of gas,
With no time for the looking glass,
I snatched my keys and headed out
To face the daily knockabout.
I tossed my briefcase in the trunk
And grabbed a mug and roll to dunk.
I turned the corner at full tilt,
And raced my neighbor out in guilt.
Somehow, I zipped through every light.
Perhaps I’d make it; I just might.
My hopes were raised then, just a smidge,
Until I saw the tollway bridge.
The entry ramp was jammed with cars,
From rattling heaps to sleek Jaguars.
I sat there waiting for my turn
And listened to my stomach churn.
My dashboard clock was ticking eight,
Just taunting me that I was late.
My boss would gloat and call me out.
My well-earned raise would be in doubt.
But, living in the here and now,
I’d have to buy some time somehow.
My coffee drained, I glanced around
To spot efficiency newfound.
My makeup bag was in my lap,
While I sat in the traffic trap.
So, as I rolled my car an inch,
I put my face on in a pinch.
My lipstick smeared across my chin;
My eyeliner was crooked, thin.
Just then, the car began to skid;
Mascara smeared across one lid.
I spilled a compact on my skirt
And hit the brakes, now on alert.
The car behind me came too fast
And hit my bumper at full blast.
I stopped and shifted into park
And leapt out, gearing up to bark.
The reason for my sudden strife?
The driver was my boss’ wife!
She glared at me, and I at her,
With both our tempers much astir.
A cop arrived to part our brawl.
“Cosmetic damages, that’s all!”
c2007 by Linda Ann Nickerson
NOTE: Unauthorized use in printed materials, online, or in
other published arenas is prohibited.