I Need A Wheelchair: A Series of Haiku About Being Stupid

This is a follow-up to yesterday's post.

I should have known, when
Idris Elba tweeted re:
his music at six.

Nobody at the
racetrack during Derby
would do that. Red flag.

Still, I believed he
would show up at Grand Gala,
honor commitments.

I went. I milled around.
But mostly, sat and waited.
And waited. Waited.

Of course, he did not
come. We left early. We parked
close, one block away.

But it already
had been too much for my bod.
I'm freakin' totaled.

My feet, still throbbing,
are swollen. They tingle up
to my calves. It sucks.

Baby Nick, your mom
is not a trooper. She's dumb.
Over an actor.

I should send him a
bill for my dress, shoes. Along
with middle finger.

But I will settle
for the moment when I see
Idris on Lifetime.

"Obsessed" is surely
bound for that channel sometime
in the next two years.

Normally, this would
not bug me. But it was too
much effort, no reward.