My Divided Selves

There is the new self I have found on Whats App,
who is all butter fingers before finding the right keys,
the self who is at rest as he writes at his desk
on his thirteen year old laptop, the fifth such machine
for writing and thinking with, which will be retired
when Mr Microsoft stops supporting Windows 10.

In the meanwhile it allows me the luxury
of thinking slowly as I type, and reflecting
with positivity how much I am loathe
to dispose of old technology I am attached to.

Then there is the self that enjoys good food,
but keeps a house that is cluttered enough
for me to distrust inviting guests to meals,
assuming I could find the people to invite. 

I am better at being the guest
who makes unexpected contributions.

Last and least are my oldest selves,
the people who were so adrift in thrift
that they willingly disguised meanness
even when it marked them for life.

I frequently want those people to rest,
and never see them again.
But I can't stop them lurking,
and seeking to be in the driving seat again
and make my being clumsy seem like a necessity. 

Oh Lord grant me patience, peace, chastity. But not yet.