Never my strong suit.
Mine a laissez-faire Mediterranean approach
like Italian traffic signs, only a suggestion––
Though I never missed a train, bus, or plane.

My husband would despair 
not leaving enough time for Murphy’s law
arriving or departing from anywhere.
You’ll be late to your own funeral, he’d declare.

My children too––
leaving them longer than expected at synagogue
celebrating high holidays with grandparents.
My young son asking, Are you trying to kill us?

Cramming, hurrying one activity to another.
Impatient, taking shortcuts, speeding––
my daughter referred to me as my mother 
the car.

And at work––
In-service workshops on Time Management,
Time Is Money. Daily planners, prioritize
minutes, hours.  I gave up
trying to fit a square peg in a round hole.

At this late date on my celestial clock,
I’m reconciled to going out as I came in––
the most disorganized 
organized person I know.