Prompt: a poem about something that returns.
There it is
right on time
just as I’d expect
it’s back again
uninvited
nudging me
silently
watching
waiting
lest I muster the urge
to be proactive
to get a head start
to begin
without urgency
without permission
I might try to sneak
a start
without its notice
but its gaze is keen
and undistracted
just the thing
it hates for me
until the last minutes
or hours
or days
depending on the work to be done
it is a foreboding taskmaster
but not unreasonable
it does not want me to fail
only to succeed
in the final moments
to prove myself
to defy the odds
or maybe
that’s just what I tell myself
to rationalize
to romanticize
my on-again
off-again
on-again
relationship
with procrastination.