When I used to manage the events
Of an excitable social life
I always worried that they would end too soon;
That a premature future would crash through
Whatever I was doing.
By the attendant sentence of time
Calling last orders or no more;
Seeping into the present and distracting
Me enough to cause resentment,
And sufficiently molest my mouth
So as to announce unhappiness,
Thus ending the evening and fulfilling
The worst of my previous misgivings.
And so a prophecy once sheltered by
The sensible canvass of self becomes strengthened,
And quenches itself, once the faculties
Raised against it are racked with doubt,
And I ended up not going
Out anymore for fear of coming back
Before the cock crows with no chance
Of standing and delighting in time’s flow.