Today is not my day, can't be mine; is it
yours perhaps? We might have
got them muddled when we
ran into each other's way and I
spilled my coffee on the floor and you
dropped the tray. Pick it up and 'uhm
here you go- no wait- there
we go-' the fumbling mess to sort it out,
hand it back-- oh, sh-- it's dropped again!
rolled out the door, we're chasing it
through the kicking shoes, in the thicket
of intimidation sporting Armani suits,
oh f- (you almost swear, I hear you recollect
the curse before you taint this lady's dainty ear
and stain your lady-like lips with such a brutish tongue)
Oh flip, it's been let to the streets, this day
which we so ardently chase, turns out to be his;
not ours, we turn and shrug with heaving
breathless gestures and a tinge of annoyance
in our countenances - we've been
running after the wrong one.
turns out yours was back in the coffee shop
and mine was in my hand this whole
time.
sa - oc.
