apparently innocent until the wick is lit; then
wham, instantaneously a whole damn factory
explodes in bits! Guess it’s too late for – Sorry!
Have I missed something? A whiff of smoke,
perhaps, suggesting the hidden smouldering
of resentment – or the puce-like glower of a
thunderous countenance; even hooded,
steel-hard and narrow-slitted eyes?
No! It comes a complete surprise! Never
fails to amaze you can drift for days on
your saccharine cloud of innocence, blithely
blotting out all forms of treasonous light;
yet when struck by today’s flash of
blinding reality, it wasn’t your fault...
© 10 May 2008, I. D. Carswell
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