I am 52, a deck of cards. I am never really right
in the noggin, nor handed, nor politically aligned
although for one of them I lied to suit the stanza
and yes I am a liar, saving feelings or to sidestep
baby showers, birthday parties, sometimes work
or when my friends or family ask how I am doing
and I am doing puzzles, painting by the numbers
a stick of glue to hold collages to their promises
to piece together things in pleasant compositions
and I compose fool poetry that usually goes dark
(I've got those daddy issues, everyone can see it)
and I am sorry so often I become the big apology
and I am sorry here I go again I need another day
another pill, another pipeful, prompt, a master plan
or maybe just another spring to turn inside my soul.
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