
I apologize for all that I disturb
when I'm out walking.
Sorry, flock of starlings.
for interrupting your feast.
I regret, young German Shepherd,
that my presence set you off barking.
I’m a most repentant man
when it comes to the grass I trample,
the flowers I brush aside,
the sidewalk cement that
takes the full weight of me
and the glass storefront
that must endure a wretched, forlorn breath.
And people, don't get me started on people.
All of my remorse goes out to
the strangers who must step aside,
disrupt their pleasant thoughts
for a moment or two
of pavement traffic cop.
And, worse still, is when I come across
someone I know.
Add the time for acknowledgement,
for talk, worse still, for later arrangements,
to the great act of contrition:
me being in their life.
Would you believe some even love me.
They even love the poor example I set.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Poetry Salzburg Review and Red Weather. Latest books, “Covert” “Memory Outside The Head” and “Guest Of Myself” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Rathalla Review and Open Ceilings.
