Some days start off so kind, one should suspect,
Immediately -- one's being softened up
For something awful. Where the disconnect
Occurred, I cannot tell, but in my gut
I'm sure it's all my fault. How tempers flare
When summer sets in well, how anger boils
At tiny things, and not one bloke can spare
A moment just to think. In such ways spoils
What could be quite a lovely afternoon.
But when things go wrong, of course one must fight,
Or be thought less than manly. Faugh! It's June.
You're right; I'm wrong and will be 'til tonight
When I get to unplug and pedal home,
While you will still be you, where'er you roam.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
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