Break Down On A Dirt Road… Poem by Margaret Alice

I wonder, when I do such bad work, why
the earth don’t open up and swallow me,
why do I always end up with the most
illogical choice, the most objectionable
idea? If I did not have such a thick hide,
I would have been wearing sack-cloth
and ashes all day long – no, wait, I am
wearing them, still strewing ashes over
my head- my work is clumsy and reads
like an old Ford car ready to break down
on a corrugated dirt road, hanging my
head in shame…