Baggage Class [sonnet]
When frightened people run this broken world,
this broken world will not remove their fear;
for fear accumulates and, like a pearl,
in secret grows until it domineers.
When frightened people feign to be one’s friends,
that friendship will not take away their dread;
as phobic apprehension never ends
but yeastifies like sour unleavened bread.
However big your axe-to-grind becomes,
your shoulder-chip it will not hack away.
The fact remains that we cannot be chums
until you can embrace the present-day.
It’s not the baggage size which spoils the freight
but if what’s packed inside is out of date.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 