My son and I belong to a clumsiness club.
Now, it seems, my husband is part of the hub.
I'm astonished he joined, my talented bub,
but since William's at school, maybe he just wanted to sub.
I don't have the excuse of having chugged too many ales at the pub
but I've lost count at how many times I've slipped in the tub.
And then from getting out, I've had numerious pains to rub.
You'd think I'd be relaxed taking a scrub
but it seems there's no end to the ways I can flub.
Of course, since we've aged and accumulated chub,
it seems easier to err and thereby be dubbed.
I often choke while eating grub
and many times gagged on a fig's nub
and while I'm expressing my distress with a glub,
my guys often laugh and give me the snub.
Then when they see for the millionth time my toe I did stub,
they shake their heads instead of comforting me as they would an injured cub.

It's a marvel how I can easily pour drinks on a rocking ship,
but walking across the room, I too often slip.
But that's the wonder of Judith and her foolishness--
and, for now I'll go away and give you all a rest from my silly mess.