Apologies. I may be late.
My drive is dilatory. Great.
I will arrive
Past time. Take five.
I’m on my way, at any rate.
The beast that guards the clock is off.
Methinks he took a frothy quaff.
My timing quit.
I must admit.
And so I beg you not to scoff.
Priorities bid me to rush.
But calendars are prone to crush.
Excuses fail,
Beyond the pale.
The best that I can do is blush.
c2018 by Linda Ann Nickerson
Image:
Theme art – adapted from
public domain image
Still from The Stranger,
1946
Love the poem!
ReplyDelete