A poem

A heavy coat
stifling
lead lined pockets
shoulders
groaning
no rest from the weight,

An old thing…

Ancient hates
mixed with the missed
opportunities
to be
a good man…

Ancient as resentment
the neighbour
was there
you pretended not to see
to avoid
conversation,
guilt adds another layer
unmoved
by your hollow prayers,

At dinner
last night you didn’t fight
the racist
let it slide
something inside dies
with each lapse,

Made an excuse
skipped
the dinner party
to watch
some crap on TV
then
Guilt descends, no chance
to make amends,
faint amens
fail to resonate,

A heavy thing
burden
rue the day, rue the day
it went away
when you were drunk
found its way
homing pigeon guilt,

I spilt
the beans
when I die, these chains
these chains
so heavy

so

so heavy

so

heavy.

Chris 2025