You can't blame it all on me.
I broke that bottle square on your boat's fat beak,
And looked damned fine doing it, too.
Is it my fault
That a little pink ribbon dragged her down?
Was it my doing
That the captain you engaged was a freak, a fiend, a fool?
Tell those idiots to lay their tubas down.
The breeze is picking up,
Everyone is heading home,
And not another soul blames me, not one.
So hit me or kiss me,
But don't stand there stupid
Like a dressmaker's dummy.
It's easy to react after the fact,
But at least I twitched,
At least I spit in the wind and went whistling past the graveyard;
If you sink, you sink alone...
Don't try to blame that stuff on me.
Also, find my new prose poem at Night Blooms, HERE.