Posted in poetry

Parasite

You can't see the worm
That feeds on the gift
Of innocence and fills
The hollowed space
With pregnant excrement,
Seeping month by month
And year by year
Through the marrow
That might have made
A lattice for a life spent
Beyond quarantine,
Reaching gently
For the sun.

Author:

I’ve retired after a career teaching law. I divide my time now between Athens, Georgia, in the States and the south coast of Ireland.