Dear Me
I pack and unpack
my plans
I put on and take
off tousled trousers
in which I must
take my next step
I call and then
hang up on
people that
might
or might
not be pleasantly
surprised by
overdue
confrontations
or underwhelming
overtures
of conditional
love
and then I
write and
re-write
my
manifesto
which I toss
out then
retrieve
and re-read
and then
I am saved
from myself
by an
unexpected
invitation
to lunch
at Applebees