9/6/2017
I bite into an apple, sour
all around me the weather: dour
the clock: crooked, I steadily watch
ticking away seconds, minutes, hours.
Discontent slips and slides
down my throat which dastardly chides
my selfish mouth who refuses to yield
to self-control which cowardly hides
The clock ticks
discomfort drips
stinging the corners
of my lips
With a resentful frown
all around me
with this sour apple
rain pours down