When habits fail
It was not habit that made me
write the wrong year, and yet,
I wrote it, made this October
into next, threw my marriage
to the itch of seven years,turned
one girl 5, sent the other to school.
Will the same things that haunt me
now haunt me then? A pen,
a stroke, a three into a four:
Two parts wiseman, one part whore.
Sometimes I think the opposite of habit
is magic. But I’m wrong. Poof–we disappear.