Old Friendships Lie Wretched

Old friendships lie wretched and reeking
like cigarette ends stubbed unconsciously
on varnished tables; there is no denying
the unsightly blemishes, no austere
feeling can match a sense of betrayal.

In an empty morning undressed of even
decent pretence we play the game – you
stare tensed as if I owe an explanation; I
wear a perplexed frown, nostrils flared,
still acerbically alight with the acrid scent.

You are amazed when I show you the
evidence, where did they come from you
say in genuine surprise – who abused and
left them like that? I don’t know – nor do I
care, they just shouldn’t be there.

We find common ground again, we progress
to where we can see eye to eye, we match
meanings. But between us on the table lie
the wretched dog-ends of old friendships –
stubbed out before their time.
© 23 April 2007, I.D. Carswell