Sorry/Not Sorry

after William Carlos Williams This is just to say

I have drunk the Chardonnay that I found in the refrigerator, and which you were probably saving for dinner.

Forgive me. It washed down steak and eggs with a satisfying swig, the crisp aftertaste marrying so beautifully with the meaty mastication of the beef.

And besides, the bottle had been there for weeks, so I knew you could not have needed it the way I did, could not have heard it calling, like an exotic bird hidden in tall trees in the Amazon, harkening its sacred call, setting off a craving to capture it before the moment flew.