Sorry I'M Late Poem by Jill Jones

The snow was in the sun
There was a prick in garden
A truck jack-knifed the particulars
There was a smell of old gas
The crows lost
As did the roses and all that juice we spilled for love
That prick in the garden

Photographers were lighting bombs
The olive tree fell just as we were getting started
We forgot to fill out the form
Celebrity drug disasters were drifting in our channel
My watch shows tomorrow's date
The disk shattered
There's that smell again
It's a form of expediency, or is it complexity?

I tried to inform the authorities

If I could find my name and my reason
If the birds would stop drifting like that
If someone would lend a hand at the entrance
I'd be less nervous saying this
My throat would work with my head and hands