You could’ve told me
It was insincere,
Was petty and was passing
And would cut too terse,
Like all the scores
Across the mirror never added
Up until the one that broke it.
Well grease the wheel again,
And it’s another pass to take
With straighter squares than what
We’d had before,
Because I’d not’ve made the
First few cuts if I’d have known
Them to be pointless.
I could’ve listened
To the skeptic, to the misanthrope
Who warned me,
But I’ve never lent my aptitude
To finding fault in the familiar things.
So I’ll measure out another plate
And hope that the reflection
Bears a bit more kind.
I’ll wash it up like always,
And a little polish on the edge,
And this time it will be the better.
This time the cut won’t run.