For those Whose Flicker’s Hidden Under A Bushel (Of Sorts )
Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Oh, sure; oh, great.
But what if you’re pure-bred
perfectionist, DNA developed
to swelter the welter-weight?
Just see the glass half-full.
Bull.
If the flag of your disposition
is of hopeless grey stuff woven, your natural arc simply
projects rejection, complexion dejection, inflection abjection, even your loins
are lubricated lugubriously.
So, un-clamp down.
Is no dignity afforded those whose foreheads
bead with the exacting
infinitesimal?
No.
No mercy granted the nervously
self-bulldozed?
No.
Must we always be prey
to mea culpa mea culpa mea
maxima culpa?
So sorry (i.e. yes.)
Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea
maxima culpa.
Must you?
(i.e. yes.)
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Draft very draft most maximum draft posted for Real Toads prompt of word list created by a shy person, and hosted by Fireblossom.
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