Above the Quay

Some will say I have paid my just, spiritual Penance Though no crime have I confessed before the bar. With bitter Perfume in my nostrils, with Poise, I stand And ponder quickly the maddening accusations hurled ... Then pull the Platinum chain tightly around my neck, [Coarse rope too primitive and gauche a way to die] I deign to feel my body Quiver as the neck constricts Above the Quay; my feet dangling below the waterline. There shall remain neither Quandary about my motive, Nor, Quaint the considered choice of this my last hurrah. Written February 6, 2021 For "Mind Your P's & Q's Contest" Sponsored by Michelle Faulkner