I plan to shut up
But being a writer
I say too much
As a waiter
Serves me a doll’s teacup
On its saucer
And my three month old rescue puppy
Tugs away
Sending a single shot of espresso
Crashing to the floor
Now I can’t shut up
Another shot is
On its way
I get ready by consciously gripping
The three month old pup’s leash
The waiter sets the espresso down
I sip it three times
It’s gone and now I won’t shut up
Childhood notions
And the slip of secrets from the dungeon
All roll off my tongue
No time do I realize
I’ve said too much
Being a writer
I say too much