The fine art of making excuses

which achievement, deportment,
endorsement, and indictment
(more serious than rigging an election)
jump/kickstarts (a divine comedy of errors)
not reason enough
to be deported),
but necessitates more than a facile effort
linkedin to a working knowledge
of familial genetics ofttimes

discovering, revealing, and unearthing
locked up figurative ghosts in the closet,
and/or shocking insights
courtesy vis a vis mapping lineage
of descendents whose deferment
being proactive when deciding
with absolute zero or
very little shadow of a doubt
versus someone analogous

to yours truly (me),
who offtime fumferes concerning
the course of action one will
assertively, decidedly, and proactively take
and keep to their word,
whether the issue in question
rather classed as superficial,
I will iterate after writing
a particular for instance as follows.

When asked (courtesy the missus)
if I ever plan to use the new hair brush
purchased at CVS a short time after
getting substantial lovely locks clipped,
yours truly responded
"when my hair gets long again"
despite promising myself
that donning the guise
of a baby boomer
long haired pencil neck geek
got nipped in the bud,
but subsequently (hypocritically)
explaining to her
the necessity to practice making excuses
lest one forget the delicate art
to thwart due diligence
to maintain irresoluteness.

Whether avoiding taking
figurative bull by the horn stance,
(particularly risky business
if one happens to be
the matador enraging
a monster red eyed bull
by waving red cape
in front of said animal -
analogous to Ke-mo sah-bee)

or evading asking Bill Thurman,
a portly non ambulatory resident
here at Highland Manor,

(whose Tuxedo patterned therapy feline
one of the most common coat colors
for shelter kitties -
a bicolor also called piebald cat
with white fur combined
with fur of some other colour,
for example, solid black, tabby,
or colour pointed named Corbin
an affectionate loveable kitty,
who administers love bites),
who rightfully owes me five dollars

for asking me to clean his carpet,
but hate to remind said person,
cuz he promised to pay me,
and would rather
he square the marginal debt
(rather than triangulate him
by circling round the issue courtesy the missus)
of his own volition,
and thus resorted
to communicate with him telepathically,
and perchance a whim will prompt him

to leave a voice
and/or text message
gently coaxing poet of Perkiomen Valley (me)
to lend him a helping hand
such as withdrawing cash
from an ATM machine
or whisking boxes away
to be recycled or reused
at Liberty Thrift store or Worthwhile
offering perfect opportunity
to jog his memory nonchalantly.