I’m sorry for that dent in your car.
It was foolish, I suppose,
to allow myself behind the wheel of a wrecking ball.
That night you found your burnt,
crumpled love letters strewn in the fireplace?
Don’t bother the police. I raise my hand.
Romance can annoy me sometimes.
And finally, you found this poem,
And now you glare at me, arms crossed
like an unamused headmaster.
I cannot say how you should punish me.