Apology

My mind is male.

It likes to go into a thing

and never come out.

I’m sorry about it.

It has an elaborate custom

of  waking in a new place every morning.

By night it goes camping

with the simplest amenities,

and never makes a mistake.

Every fire is started

with vigorous success

and put out with equal flare.

My mind loves to look at a clock

and tell it how wrong it must be.

Imagine berating a clock!

Well, I have. Here, at this very moment,

I’ve made a watch so ashamed

that it’s holding its little arms still

and refusing to tell the truth.

My mind argues hotly with the past.

It finds every misstep and

brings it forward for questioning.

It’s beaten the past so soundly

it has changed, irrevocably, into the future.

Things are looking good.

I have an army of  fearful subjects

that are ready to carry me anywhere.

Tomorrow, I plan to visit the hanging gardens

where plants drip all over themselves.

I’m sure they can be improved.

First, I will awaken to great confusion

in a sumptuous room filled with riches.

I trust I will have made every suitable arrangement.