The Switch

What good has come of it: doing good? Yes I am honest and yes my pots are clean Still I wish they weren’t spick, span and gleaming I wish they had need for a good wiping What would it cost for a little dirt? Constant cooking noises from across the wired fence Makes my ears tingle with envy and anger Constant cries of hunger exasperate from within Fury blinds me, the Devil binds me The door beckons, I make for it Gun in hand, one thing on my mind Heaven or Hell, I don’t care I’m done with it: being good. The good die young. I don’t want that My grip tightens, the good must die tonight Starting from tonight, my evil twin lives The nakedness of my children Their empty protruding bellies Proofs of my foolish goodness. The soap and kitchen sponges Must be used more often now After tonight, the only cries to be heard: “Daddy, I want some more”