Shooting the breeze

How did it get to be August
with the Christmas cards only just chucked?
What happened to spring in the meantime -
and the summer - no ice-lollies sucked?

How did it get to be August
when I've not even cleaned for the spring?
How in the world will I ever catch up
when Time does its own kind of thing?

If I go back to bed till the winter,
keep my head down and don't show my face,
then perhaps I can join in next New Year
and accept I've been lapped in this race.

poem © Celia Warren 2012