Spoiling

I'm waiting in the waiting room. I wait
Because they told me to. They told me to
So I complied, but when this day is through
I'll stop complying: I will complicate,
Infer, touch wood. I'll make you contemplate
The suffering of others who, like you,
Like everything unspoiled, untouched, make do.
I'm spoiling for a fight; you are distrait.

Tomorrow, everything will be so sweet
That you and I will sing, praising the dawn
And hailing all those brilliant stars that shone
To shame the night. To make our song complete,
Bright notes will rise from potholes in the street.
Next week, all imperfection will be gone.