I’m not sure, he replies, his hair
as silver as his tongue used to be.
His voice cracks on the journey
across their table for two and
his friend refuses to change
the conversation. Nosy pub-goers
and a wannabe writer use every muscle
in their necks not looking.
If your misdemeanours came to light,
would you be ashamed? repeats his friend.
© Carl Burkitt 2022