A Little Too Late

Surprised by so little

And a little too late

Dinner isn’t anything special

She couldn’t cook when I first met her

She still can’t cook now

So why bother?

Why continue, why move forward?

This seems like a perfect dead-end

And there isn’t enough room to turn around

So we just become complacent, like we’ve been doing for years

Not much has changed

Not much will

And like the oils on the painting

Which never completely dry

What we are left with, is only unfinished business

Not something to look forward to

Not something we should worry about completing

Things like this surround us

And will take up the entire day’s thoughts

But that changes little

And my ashtray is full, again

And the beer I was working on is empty

And there she is

At the foot of her stairs

Calling for me to come down for dinner

Same again, same as it ever was

It won’t be special

And I won’t be surprised

But I will most likely show up late

surprised by so little

And forever, a little too late

© Dicky J Loweman 2015



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