Keatonesque

As nights grow ever long, and days grow less,
Of all I love the best, what things I’ve done,
Are not the campaign games of lifelong chess,
The little battles clinically won;
Instead it’s when I’m standing holding flowers
Amidst the tumbling wrecks of slapstick boast,
Stone-faced in the waste of swirling, cindered hours,
That’s when I got things right. Almost.

Thomas Clark