On kissing the hare's foot

I am procrastinating about errands
I wonder if they’ll ever get done
I hear the clock ticking
I see the sun move through the sky
I want to be a different person
I am still me
I pretend that my procrastination is thoughtful
I feel a poem sprouting on my tongue
I touch its petals, but very gently
I worry they might fall off
I cry when they do
I am bereft
I understand that errands still await
I say to hell with writing a poem
I dream about nothing
I try to get out of my chair
I hope I have enough time
I'm running late