Too Late Poem by Gordon D Wilkinson

Too late
Just too late
I hold on to the plethora of too late’s in my pocket
The bus had just pulled out as I got there – too late
Bank doors closed just before I arrived
Shopping for a particular fancy
That particular pack of chips I wanted
Too late, just left in the grubby hands of a child
Looking at the free competition on the cereal packet
Oh, I never, out of date and so too late
Too late to phone for an appointment
Call again between working hours
Always it seems just missing my timing
Its not that I really mind missing out
I am getting used to those words
One thing I know I will not be too late for
When the undertaker calls one day
Will I care if he is too late?
He can be too late as many times as he wants