Admission
Time to come clean, admit
something you may
or may not know, a kind
lie to claim the
latter. Confess is too strong a word, it
smacks of sin, ill intent
when, truth be told
my crime is common as corduroy
pants
on a cold afternoon,
apples in pie,
fooling none besides myself,
a sanguine
fool perfectly willing to
march ahead
when most of the time I
was stepping blind,
wont to make it up as I
went along,
tinny bugle sound of small
victories
from time to time muffling
the shotgun crack
of ice thin under the skates
I woke up
wearing, underway at full speed, headlong,
needing only to tuck, feet parallel,
knees flexed but contemplating figure
eights.
No comments:
Post a Comment