Dark Light
One of those too close to home poems…Where you try to make the reader distrust the narrator…giving cover and a quick exit

I have but one living blood relative,
I think—
(That “I think” being a cheap
and tawdry wink-wink)
But I depress

Back to the sibling;

A brother
Like me
Now, an old man
Like me
And an old hand
Like me
In hoarding regrets
And trespass

And never mind the time stamp
on the infringements;
the this or that damn deed done
decades ago

And a “way back then” doesn’t mitigate
And young and dumb—often desperate
will grant no dispensation

And like Now Times, an infection can
mutate in a damn minute into a wound
collecting draft of a contemporary army
made to rewrite and prosecute
the erstwhile


I make it 6 to 5 and pick ‘em that
we pass before speaking

And you, have a nice day.

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