On Time

Just before sunset, on a cold autumn eve, I asked a few friends if they wanted some tea.

Some said “of course!”, and others declined. But the ones who said yes said they’d come half past nine.

At once I remembered my apartment’s debris, the dirt in my kitchen and the dirt within me.

I wiped down the counters and cleaned up the floors, and I put on hot water so I wouldn’t be bored.

A few scented candles and music for show, tonight my apartment would roleplay a home.

The clock struck the hour the bells then did chime, but none of my friends were present in time.

Did I say something wrong? Is my living space clean? Or was there a typo for when we’re to meet?

Nay, not a thing seemed to be left awry. Instead, I decided they all must have died.

A terrible tragedy, and it’s all my fault! I’ll send for their caskets and drink lots of malt.

But as I sat waiting to hear how they passed, a knock at the door had erupted at last.

I didn’t think that ghosts were beings among us, yet there they all were! Greeting me in a chorus.

I must have forgotten in all of my cleaning, that partiful hours have no tactful meaning.

It’s perfectly fine that I felt so upset, but how lucky am I to have won life’s routlette.

For these are my friends, though the tea’s cooling down, I’d rather them late than never around.