Cheques and Balances

 

Something’s not right, correct, proper,

It feels offset and out of order;

As I reach for my receipt from painted nails

A painted smile spits goodbye as off I go.

 

My designer shoes feel light and soft

But still not right,

Yet I can’t find what ails my mind.

I’ve forgotten something,

Perhaps behind in that boutique,

Perhaps at home lying in my study

Or on my pine and cast-iron bed.

 

No, that’s not it. It’s in my head

What I have left but cannot say;

A nagging, niggling, gnawing ache

That will not go away to leave me be.

A sub-conscious plea escapes

From time to time and throws a thought

Towards the front, yet shares an outline

Of a blurry recollection.

 

Still I try to force it through but to no end.

So now I stop in hope renewed

That I have oiled the rusty door

Behind which this damn point will lurk no more.

 

I plod along Italian tiles

Past marble columns that gleam like ice;

That give reflection to my stride

And all my shiny bags

With all my necessary items

Gently placed inside.

 

It hits me then, explodes upon the clawing brain.

Belatedly it has dawned on me;

The reason for my being so annoyed and discontented.

 

I stare around to finally see

That commerce feeds upon our greed;

And as sickness catches hold of me

A parent somewhere, steeped in grief,

Cannot find the food to feed their child.

A.D.

 

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