The uneasiness has stayed all day, it bleeds
away what little willpower would be needed
to erase the slate, balance an extravagance
you once again let fête your leisure time too
easily. Arrogance demeans you – you can’t
see it as indulgences’ surfeit; the aches and
pains were earned in arrant nonchalance –
vanity and alcohol consumed has duly paid.
Remorse that you may feel is chamfered by
the fit of knowing you were wrong; comfort
isn’t worn with ease or long, you’d ever be a
penitent in aspirin relief where every glass
reflects a champagne grin which says – hey,
look at me, see how I suffer for my sin.
© 7 July 2008, I. D. Carswell
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