PERFORATION

I watch a flickering screen

On a black and white television,

Where the channel features

Only repeat programs

That are scratchy re-runs

Of malignant memories,

Somehow rearranged

On a zany timeline

As flashes of inconsequence

And ferocious fabricators

Of everlasting shame

And ruinous guilt.

Even the ordinary tilt

Of everyday life

Comes tainted in weird ways

By stains invariably ascribed

To well-intentioned actions

Or innocent negligence,

Bringing an unceasing sense

Of culpability for hurts inflicted,

And ripping open a scar

Of forlorn humiliation.

At the end there is anxiety.

It is time to panic

When I realise that all I am

Is a victim of a theft

Of pride in endeavours.