The List (Poetry)

The duty list has grown too long —
it lengthens as I borrow
scraps of time — the chores will wait —
they’ll still be here tomorrow.

Sullen ghosts of conscience glare —
silently accusing.
I’m guilty of the theft of days —
constantly misusing

the hours frittered totting up
to weeks and weeks together
stashed in Winter’s gloomy hold —
wrapped in wilful weather.

I’ve used them up — the moments fade —
my clock is smugly ticking
whole months away — still nothing done —
regret’s an echo — kicking...

The list reads like a life unlived —
no time to waste on sorrow —
I’ll steal what seconds I can find
and pay them back tomorrow.