by Fleur Adcock
There are worse things than having behaved foolishly in public.
There are worse things than these miniature betrayals,
committed or endured or suspected; there are worse things
than not being able to sleep for thinking about them.
(the rest of the poem is at The Writer's Almanac)
I hate it when I goof: when I forget something important, when I drop the ball, when I'm late no matter how hard I've tried to be on time, when my intentions are misread, when I speak without thinking or without sufficient preparation. I am haunted by my mistakes. They leave their tracks everywhere. The snow will melt and others will no longer see them, but I can't erase them from my memory.
Mary Ann's got the Poetry Friday Round Up at Great Kid Books today.