Poem: Disappointment is the only appointment I keep

A poem about owning your mistakes.

Spiritual anguish isn’t so bad
once you’ve changed the sheets
in the guest room.

Okay, so it lives rent-free but makes
no real mess - beyond the existential
dread. And time needs to pass.

You can’t mark it only by birthdays,
and you need to own your mistakes.
Make up the spare bed and let

them all have a place to rest; let them
get comfortable. They’ll be
some comfort to you in the end.