Resentment starts to go backwards in search of a new hermeneutic
the appointment slipped your mind that's no excuse

I'm the kind who'll sit in the waiting room and watch the second hand
for as long as it takes it's something I'm proud of I won't

leave just because it's dark outside and the street is slick with tears
it's impolite to tell you what you know already

and antisocial not to — I'll bounce back in a year or two
sorry there's no one on your side you'll have to take mine

no need to write that down I'll feel like a brute and it'll only fester
then we'll both be on our knees mewling and puking

it's the voice of a thousand gardens making me cranky and out of sorts
quit your dimwit hankering and hollering I don't want to hear it