a confessional on the reposting of the poem: “five things to consider at the table”

I’m incurably impetuous.

It seems I've accomplished something, but

before its chance at redemption from elements of awkwardness,

I present it to the unsuspecting masses, and it's there I stand

on the stage of public exhibition, my pants below my knees

drawing a comical drapery.

so if you allow me a reprieve, I thank you.

understand, this won’t advance the notion you might entertain

for a mention of your kindness at my autobiographical eulogy, but

you’ll have the right to address the congregation to say with confidence:

“I was there!”–– but know that when your time comes to call,

you won't be taking your benevolent behavior with you–– as you won't

your next breath, or your money.