I'll give you this,
I hardly ever jump the gun.
That is not to say that I'm Mr. cool, collected, suave, or even patient.
I'm more like nostalgia, regret, or say
snowfall in May;
I'm the kind of guy who thinks,
"Damn, I really should have said that just then,"
retracting past conclusions like thunder trailing lightning's wit,
Or,"If only I could do it over again,"
admonished by those like the honorable judge of hangovers,
who gavels at the temples of the last-night-logicals.
More so I am the credit spender, the extra point, movie critic,
the little and the late.
I'm bad blood when it runs cool, or the "oops" that bites at certainty.
I'm your reminiscent lover or your annotative creep, take your pick.
Just know this,
As there are those who walk along the road
there is a me who follows footnotes.
For every daughter chasing suns across the sky. Those sons, their daughters and so on.
There is a me who stumbles over clouds, chasing what has already passed:
A fool, a boy, a girl, a muse.
A poet to pen life's afterthoughts.