Estranged Reality

Accused of leaving early – & in
a literal sense watched less than
spied upon with impeached eye
whether our time is the same –
say what you will but be honest
with that estranged reality

What is it which makes me the
victim – your reclusive sense of
temporal inference? Who are
you to judge where we balance
if the fulcrum functions only as
separation of your singularity

I didn’t leave early by any logic
which figures in your unsteady
measurement – sad to say that
reflects upon whatever you’ve
succumbed to since inception
of your mystifying malady

You’re the recalcitrant I’d say,
abandoned to disputed failure;
all this faking it isn’t necessarily
about me is it, but fine ideas you
harbour tragically about who
properly represents whom
© 27 March 2012, I. D. Carswell

For my Little Sister Marilese – and
the peremptory saga of leaving early