Spring 2014 • Vol. XXXVI No. 2 Poetry |

My Bad

The people who say "My bad" are unable to say, "Sorry, I was wrong, I'll never do that again." At best they half mean something like, I underestimated my capacity for self-delusion. At worst, caught with their pants down, they admit only to a little problem with their belts. "I feel guilty"—that acknowledgment of wrong with no intention of changing— is almost as bad, but not quite, e.g., My bad that I slept with your wife, Jack, I feel very guilty about how enjoyable it continues to be. "My bad" is the chocolate of the would-be honest man. The sugary lie. The truth is, unless you can run through hell in a gasoline sport coat and live to tell about it, as Ali said, you need to keep your mouth shut. For the life of me, Jack, my bad that I couldn't help myself. The moon was out and the night was young.

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