Reid Baer CONFESSES to Margo Rose Ferderer “My Bad”
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My Bad
By Reid Baer

I become angry when you don’t
get the quintessential meaning
of my expression embedded

from a wet dream, in a pirate’s
poem, or with any of my word-
smith endeavors to convey an

obscure image from my conscious
and/or subconscious submarine
I believe at the time is quite

universally true I mean
by simply throwing a wide net
into the deep deep ocean yet

yet remarkably you do so
often capture my inane thought
(and I do so humbly thank you)

swimmingly which is important
to me individually
in the extant moment but there’s

no context for you and how shell
fish am I slightly embarrassed
and totally wrecked man on an

island because I realize
oh, my bad unrealistic
expectation is not about

your ship but my own personal
psyche drowning in some lousy
impalpable mood during a

hurricane that can never be
readily transparent here nor
immediately understood.
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