Care is not a safety deposit box,
a place to keep the weep
we might want back anon.
Accounts of love need never balance.
More given than received? No bother,
since safely stored is really shelved
but worked means worn smooth.
I’m glad we boiled sad on your watch
but why stiff upper lip on my time?
I’d rather sweat the assets; tell
’til my own deathly knell sings
loud, proud, and all for free—
I’ll help but can’t help asking:
do you still root for me?
© 2018 Matt Chamberlain
Drifter poet: from Lancashire to Wales to London to Kent; words a constant. Published pastoral-performance-page poet and festival laureate.