Tonight I was great, tomorrow not so late. Under handed fate reprimands my state. I tend to miss-state my mistakes but I don’t miss steak or miss takes. My miss is late, she’s always late; though not today, the missus of late. Last time we spake plans danced and swirled, not upended yet, still unfurled. See we make plans like a clam bake, all set to heat up, dream these things up. Like a cold shower our plans wink out, a shuttered flame, lost clout. We are left on the dish, one small raw fish, a laughing squish, no glow, just salt.