Thoughtlessness

If it were possible to ingest one's own foot
I'd have done it.
My soapbox against your latest passion,
Claims that pants like that are out of fashion.
I forgot your birthday, called your mum a cow.
If feet were smaller, I'd have swallowed one by now.

Clueless doesn't nearly sum it up.
I'm the friend you can trust to say
the One Wrong Thing.
Call for winter weather in the spring,
Suggest the cake you've eaten is enough,
I deliver insults off the cuff.

Tact is not my gift.
Diplomacy, poise all escape me
and toenails scratch my heart.
Still, as I make thoughtlessness an art,
know that this is true:
My thoughts are never far away from you.

SAR 2008