Poetry

Chill Days, 19 (324.)

The meeting is set,
for a time heretofore agreed upon
and there’s no amount of hand-wringing
that will get me out of it.
I’ll have to go to bed a bit earlier than usual;
I’ll have to wake up
and prepare for a show.
For the most part,
I’m putting on the show,
but there’s always a bit of trepidation
when the results fall on you.
In this case, you is me.
The results fall on me.
And then they’re forever tied to me.
So the meeting is set,
and I’ll have to make sure
I do my best in the morning.
A night owl’s
worst daymare.

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