Being late
can be sooner than I want to be.
For death,
I can say,
a cataclysmic star descended,
it made the sky so white
I forgot to keep our appointment,
and left death laughing
as I slink away.
Another day I want
to be late for all engagements,
to meet
my one true love again,
and say,
I canceled life for this moment,
to share your lips with mine.
So much for punctuality.
Returning books on time
is a fault I must work on
diligently.
To deny others their pleasure
is not right,
like keeping children at the gate
who want to play.
Never let it be said
I kept them waiting.
But,
must I improve every tardiness?
Refusing to pay some taxes
in a timely way?
Coming late to boring parties?
Being last in line at pornographic movies,
or late for speeches at political rallies?
Such exceptions for timeliness occur.
Is being late bad or good,
or something that’s depending,
on what excuses you may have,
how many people you’re offending,
or at most,
does it, or did it matter?