The Shore

We have travelled the same roads
You and I, though
In different shoes,

Yours without soles or laces,
Mine embarrassingly polished
Undertaker black

Weekly, I wash up to ask you questions,
You answer meekly,
Apologising for your numb plight,

You hide in the bathroom
Like some afflicted animal
Fearing an injection

We sit debating sanity
Oblivious to the febrile pantomime
In the corridor

For privacy,
You can close your eyes
Or draw the curtains around your bed

You are the drowning man
All I can do is wave
From the shore

Patrik Gryst (Nom de Plume)

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