One word to describe you – STOIC,
versus me – GULLIBLE.
Were you always that good at swallowing pain,
or were you just good at pretending so
that GUILT can flow out of me in an APOLOGETIC
deluge of sorry’s and please forgive me’s
coupled with bent knees, palms raised, pleading –
when a minute ago, I could have sworn,
it was you who was at fault?
You’d help me bury a body, right? she asked,
without hesitation, dead pan, straight-faced I said, “of course”.
And I would too, no questions asked, even at the edge of
life and death, even at the very cusp of it –
IRREFUTABLY, UNDOUBTEDLY, I’d help you,
right nor wrong has no role in it,
FOOLISH and NAIVE are the clothes
I’d wear for you.
There’s a hammer that pounds into my chest.
And it knocks me out –