This poem is an excuse.
It doesn’t rhyme,
It has no real structure,
rhythm or pattern.
This poem needs an excuse.

Just because, when all is said and done,
you haven’t done
what you should have done,
doesn’t mean you couldn’t have done.
Excuse.

Listen to dramatic music –
Feel the swirling tempest –
The torrent of emotion –
Then it’s easier to feel sorry for yourself.
Excuse.

There’s no logic.
And poems are meant to be clever!
This poem thinks too hard.
This poem is stupid.
This poem needs an excuse.

I am this poem’s excuse.
It doesn’t rhyme,
It has no real structure,
rhythm or pattern.
This poem is my excuse.