What’s in an apology?

To me, it is simply
a torrential downpour of regrets
and just-kissed,
biting insults
wrapped in
1982’s dowry garments,
lacy and dainty and
full of holes.

To me,
it contains a
moth-eaten veil
smelling like
lily of the valley,
a rotten memory
of a sweet time –
piped rosettes of frosting
atop
a filthy sponge.

By any other name:
Surrender,
Atonement,
Vindication –
it is to none;
it is to none but
to soften the blow
dealt by
the concrete slab
of fault.

It is not any sweeter,
not even the gritty feel
of a Sweet N’ Low
between your teeth.

It is novacaine
to the muscles
in your cheeks
that have been scowling for so long.

So,
here it is.
I hope
that feels so much better.