Why

It seemed all nice and pretty at first, but

then it began to turn into beauty, furthering

its imperfection – then hormonal discharge

necessary – then a liquid I didn’t even know

I had in there.

My act that wants to be a cog, but it would have

to take the place of at least two of yours; it ends

up rolling down my doorsteps hapless, seemingly

ignorant of other cogs but still there, waiting for a

magnetic pull to work its magic.

If you give me an extra second I swear I will

make it work this time, I will attach it to an

internal organ but then I’ll think – why?- and I

might decide it works better as a eked frill than

a functional appendix.

My word - ends up glued as an extra line in

your well-balanced poem, awkward waving

after the final goodbye, embarrassed glancing thru

windows of a car stuck at a red light- twice.