Sins of our weakness

Old toolbox2    Should I remove the large old, oblique screwdriver from
Your father’s heavy, grey toolbox – you know, the one,
That Celia used to stand on in fetching up your bottle,
Not so cleverly camouflaged amongst the cluttered mottle.

Would you, I bring the hammer as well; now gently hanging
Nearby, along the peg wall where Timmy stood and sang his
Nursery songs, or rhymes, whatever – we always said his wailing
Helped to drown the argued shouts of a love’s slow failing.

Could I take them both weightily in hand and, turning back, ascend
The cellar steps, a clunk-a clunk, you knew the sound of them.
To find you laying stoic there, empty bottle glinting,
In sick reflection of t.v. screen, the violent end is hinting.

And driving spike of angry indignation through your putrid bosom,
I wonder if you’d simply smile and hold the bloodied prism,
Somehow at last your penance feel, your own confessional,
And free at once the both of us from such a living hell.

Advertisements

About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s