Should I forgive you
the too many mistakes you’ve made?
You test the durable and generous
bounds of my love,
which is caught between
limitlessness of my childhood
that convinced me you could be my hero
and the grown-up restrictions
of seeing you in the harsh florescent light of truth.
Please don’t push me much harder.
My patience and understanding don’t grow
with your increasing need to frustrate them.
I will forgive you this one last time
but don’t be surprised
if I too rarely call when I know
you’re waiting by the telephone
with a full head of gray hair
and too many regrets.
Comments/suggestions?
