Failure

Lord, bless this egg house
This poor, debauched room
It has suffered enough

This is your punishment
for faulty carrying of
that fragile package marked
Handle with Care
(Never mind that I slipped it
into your box unawares)

This torrent of sorrow
that crimps you
pushing blurbs of cooing
to the surface

In your defense,
it was not you
but a bad batch of jelly –
no tenacity
that dropped my parcel
(Butterfingers, you maladroit)

Did someone say punishment?
But that debt is pre-paid
This must not be put to your charge
you are acquitted.
Now, hold on tight,
this one will be true.

(c) Tasha Chinnock 2007