*****

I’m a little out of practice —
I’m not sure what You’re called —
But now my heart is broken
And my back is to the wall

I’ve been a little proud, I think,
I’m ready to admit
That I don’t, maybe, know
The tall, short, round and flat of it

Don’t maybe know the whole dang score
Better than that brother
Or that sister or that kid
Or, really, any other

I don’t know if You’re personal
And hearing what I say
And now I think it doesn’t
Matter so much anyway

What matters is folks get along
If we can make it so
Allowing people comfort
In what they think and know

Realizing if my own
Personal experience
Might be something different
Shouldn’t jump me to defense

And if I’m just polite
If I am just considerate
Consider to before I speak
Whether those words do harm or good

I know that I’ll get credit
If You do exist
Enough to make the cut,
Cut mustard, be upon the list

Of flawed and failing servants
Of the goodness we all know
Good people move to manifest
Wherever ’tis they go

I know I’ve caused some sorrow
I’d undo it if I could
If You’re there, I’d like You to know
I’m going to turn this bad to good

By treating people in the ways
That I would wish to be
I’ve learned and grown, the way we do,
And ready to do good — you’ll see!

*****
The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. Contributions may be made at:https://www.gofundme.com/are-you-a-patron-of-the-arts