by Glen Martin Fitch
Upon the cellar door
I wrote my name in chalk.
I scrawled it backwards
to avoid detection.
Bored,
I did it as a game.
My parents guessed.
Once more they were annoyed.
How tempting was
the dust upon your shelf.
I wrote my name
without a second thought.
I'm sorry.
I was only thinking of myself.
I meant no harm
nor thought that I'd get "caught."
You guessed that was my nasty way
to say that you're a slob.
If you did that to me
that's what you'd mean,
I fear.
But can't you see
Perhaps my only motive
was to play.
No, I'm not minimizing what I did.
It wasn't me!
That was my inner kid.
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011