By Les Wicks,
I tried looking back at our time, found
nothing tragic. I was privileged to see
a vulnerability withheld from others.
That art, your beauty.
All my fault, why do I, after time, neglect
those true treasures that have touched my neck?
Is it a manacle worn by men?
Or did she too forget I was there
one night as autumn faltered outside on the stairs?
Was negligence my only failing?
I don’t think I was domineering but
men so often stuff that up.
I was a dumb young human,
is that still a thing today?
My daughter seems so sensible.
There was a hope that you
would never see the pieces beside her in bed,
the rickle
at the rim of my sparkling personality.
We both have new loves now, we’re
friends on facebook &
shared a drink at Mark’s funeral.
There’s regret, always regret.
Is that enough penance?
