I am not mad at you
But I hope that when you are in a rush and running to catch an elevator
That no one holds it open for you
And maybe sometime when you want an iced coffee
The waiter mixes it up and makes you a hot one instead
And you rush to take a little sip that burns your tongue before you realize it
But I swear I'm not mad at you
I only hope a colored sock that runs goes in your whites wash sometime
I wish you no harm I promise
But may your furniture perpetually move out of place and that you always walk into them
Finally, may you be well and may your dinner always get burnt, or over salted.
