The fun won't stop, not yet, and not because
The problem did, is past and gone and done.
It's still curled up and waiting for a pause
Within my busy-ness to pounce. It's one
Of many little quirks biology
Has left in us; still animals, we learn
More deeply through our crap recovery
Than through the instant when we took the burn.
It's psychic, though, what happened, so it's kept
Within my body far too long. I breathe
And tap as I'm supposed to, but I've wept
A lot. There's still a lot to do. I seethe
Resenting just a bit how I've been caught
In atavistic traps that chance hath wrought.
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