At the End of the Day
The final score
always left wanting, regretting
much metaphorical bed-wetting.
The cross-over to the beginning
is as swift as molasses.
Mental heels drag,
pointlessly
we ran out of points to make
too soon.
At the very end is the redirect start line -
bang! Go,
not rats racing
just facing up to the concrete
ceilings
we plastered over only yesterday
and yesterday now will always remain
an 'end of the day' question mark,
another part-written poem
we know we will not complete
by the end of this day
or any other.
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