I’ve frequently misread “the look”
When it was flashed at me,
Unmindful of the urgent hint,
Conveyed in subtlety.
I then found foot deep in my mouth
And hoped that time would free
Me of the consequence of words
That came so fluently.
I like the thought plainly spelled out.
Take me aside a bit;
I want to know the how and why.
Then I can quietly sit.
But, when shoe’s on the other foot
(The one plucked from my teeth)
And I don’t want cat out of bag,
Blankness defies belief.
Those times, as I recall, I’ve steamed,
And patience I forsook.
I blush to see the difference
It makes who gave “the look.”
©2010 Carol Morfitt