unkind thoughts

some people are
always late.
tell them, i'll
meet you at five,
and they don't
arrive until
five twenty.
tell them five
twenty, then they
might show
up at six.
it's a constant
being late
with them. a
game they play
pretending to be
busy. who
isn't. they laugh
at their own
lateness. it's
funny to them,
it's who I am,
they say, proud
of making people
wait. you just sigh
and check your
watch, hum
quietly to yourself
and say,
serenity now,
tapping your
fingers on
the table, thinking
unkind thoughts.