why is that, anyway?

Cheryl Coast 

The chance of spilling coffee will rise
with the mounting cost of my clothing,
and the brew-soaked stains increase in size
(here’s the factor I’m really loathing)
per the number of witnessing eyes.
Learning carefulness is a slow thing.

When feeling put down or berated,
my mind finds the best retort somehow
later— place and time unrelated
to the optimal right here and now.
Wit and quickness seldom are mated.
Far Too Little Too Late, take a bow!

My sweet grandbaby will make the choice,
if playground or park is the setting,
to fall fast asleep and make no noise.
But take her to church or a wedding
and she’ll screech at the top of her voice.
She’ll grow up a rock star, I’m betting.
​
In dieting together, I’ve found
though from kale to celery I bounce,
my guy friend eats premium ground round.
I fret and sweat and lose but an ounce
while the fella drops pound after pound.
Then, “You’re doing it wrong,” he’ll pronounce.