KARMA REPAIR
I Should Have Left Well Enough Alone
Or maybe not
I should have left well enough alone after forty years — our babes-in-the-wildwood past buried in cement — your descriptor and awful predictor.
Grasses I seeded
the second go-round
to be sequoias
implanted
by the Spinner,
Apportioner of Lots,
She Who Cannot Be Turned
into our plot
to be trampled
into acid rain-dappled parchment
in Destiny’s book.
Ah, climate change.
Remember how we played house with the fairies within the sequoia outside San Jose — except I wasn’t playing?
Like now — hell, no, no more playing Hide and Seek with Karma. When tonight I dream, please may I awaken to yet more of the hoary fuck ups, I, fate’s whore, must answer for.
Goosebumps reverberating like goose steps — my stormtrooper past. My debt beneath the dark side’s white visor runs lives deeper, galaxies further, than teenage I dumping teenage you for him. Re-discovering you — far too pat a set up for grownup you, tat-for-tit, dumping grown-up me for her.
