Returns

I don’t know when I’ll ever learn;
I eye, I buy and then return.

But often, there’s a little clue
Alerting me to what I knew

Which is, if I am thinking twice,
Despite the fact the item’s nice,

It means it isn’t quite for me –
And then the rest is history.

I tell myself that it will work
(Though doubts, of course, remain and lurk)

And then my credit card comes out,
As if there’s not the slightest doubt.

I get it home or it arrives;
My insecurity revives.

It isn’t right, it doesn’t fit
And poof! I know that this is it.

I pack it up, I bring it back;
It heads back to a shelf or rack.

I’ll try again ‘cause someday soon,
When something sends me to the moon,

I’ll feel the same when I get home;
But that will be another poem.