Routine
I wonder if you only glue the fragments of a broken plate together
Because it's easier to claim it's fixed forever
Than to admit it was ever dropped
Curiously still, is how you hurl it
At the walls, the ceiling, the floor
Ever the while still screaming at me that you're not clumsy anymore
Even as I sweep the shards, the dust, the blame, the trust
You're fetching another bottle of glue, insisting "my dear, I must."