A Sorry Mistake

I'm sorry
very sorry,
this evening
This dark serenade
the moon stalks unto me

I am fully aware,
why it appears,
I know,
It fears I may forget,

But how could I?

He who errs,
He who makes the mistake
Is typically the last to see its face

The Dangling Numeral: One way to prevent a broken door

If they didn’t tell me, if I didn’t know

You’d think I saw a stranger, I’d swear I saw a ghost,

Voices, flat and wide,

Echoic, coming from every side,

Long play vinyl to tracks of eight

Cassettes to Compact Discs to MP3’s,

I like the way it makes me feel,

Loud anthems roaring high,

Softly sung lullabies, the type mamma used to sing at night,

Words that rhyme and words that distill

Meanings taken from each inflection, from every skipping beat,

When the door caved in, a dangling numeral was no more,

Men and splinters flew in all directions,

By the looks of it I was in need of serious protection,

The pride in the air quickly filled the room,

As smiles stretched and hands slapped back and forth

I found it all surreal, filled both in humor and by fear,

But in this moment I couldn’t laugh, and God knows I tried to cry,

It was then the vanilla scented lady came to me, sat down at my side,

Gently she caressed my cheek, so tender, so motherly,

 “So glad that you’re okay,” were the first things she said to me,

The only thing that came to mind was a question. “Why?”    

Soon an explanation would arise.