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.