Poor houseguest, you were, Yesterday,
All gilded suitcase and saddlesores,
Couldn’t fix the hinges, clean the flue and wash the floors,
The check came you’d never pay,
And those amoebic pseudopods keep reaching to all places in my mind,
Insufferable, inscrutable you.
The present is an awkward lover,
All thespian, artistic arms,
So tiny, so fragile, but too strong to smother,
Reaching for the past, the future, not caring who it harms,
And you yawn as I read you the Captain’s Verses,
Unpleasable, unponderable you.
Tomorrow comes as a shock that it’s there at all,
Like a present from an uncle several states away,
And that dead weight in your bed that is the Present gets so much solace from him
That you wonder why she bothers with you in the first place.