by Glen Martin Fitch

I try,
I'm sure like you,
to do what's right.
For jobs well done
I wouldn't mind a raise.
I think I'm kind,
I fight injustice as I can.
I don't need praise
I sometimes do things wrong.
When "Who's to blame?" resounds,
I hope I'm first to say,
"It's me!"
Then there's the acts
I should have done.
What shame from
"That was YOUR responsibility."
But what about the bad
I didn't do?
The pie I didn't eat?
The words unsaid?
Would I be thanked
if everybody knew?
And if the world were just
I'd like instead the cash
I didn't spend on booze and bets,
on drugs and porn and
shoes and cigarettes.


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011