Saturday, April 2, 2016

Time... (National Poetry Month 1)


Some people have impeccable timing
Arriving when they should,
Knowing when to leave.
Always on the beat.

She was not one of those people
Always late. Or too early.
Watching the exit.
A half a step off.

She had been born a month late.
Making her grand debut
In the hottest month,
At the worst time.

You will be late for your own funeral;
She'd been told more than once.
But would that really be 
A terrible thing?

Good timing was never her strength.
And she never really cared.
Late or early. She arrived.
Wasn't that the point?

But some things only come once.
One chance or you miss them.
But impeccable timing
Was never her gift. 

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