Writing emails in the late afternoon
is a bad sign.
The stress that arrests my chest before dawn.
The feeling I am right.
The worry I was wrong.
The injustice that sizzles my pride.
The truth is I’m along for the drive.
I’m just another passenger in a
funny clown car ride.
Can I eat enough crow to
survive the freak show?
Pretend I don’t know the
way the cycle of a couple
bad choices goes?
I release my clinched fist
and let the dice roll.
© 2023 | K.Hartless
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