I save the best for last when I’m alone.
That may be evidence my toddler needs
were not well met. I’m old. I have no bone
to pick with folks no longer here or well,
but if I could, I’d take the fattest scone
the platter holds, the richest treat I see.
I’m solo here and years beyond full-grown,
in charge of ordering my list of deeds.
I’ll exercise before I write this poem.