#brain stuff

I cursed at my husband although I love him.

In medieval Wales I'd owe him a copper penny but I don't

in this sick stupid modern life

where helpful pharmaceuticals try to

tame the sick sad lump of neurons that will curse however I flagellate.

In medieval Wales I'd be drunk

or dead in a ditch or perhaps very fortunately

fed dry bread at a monastery door,

its gift kind and intolerable as the hands that reach to catch me when I

curse.

I see folk as sick as me

shuffle the sick sad streets of my city-town (which is not in Wales)

with their shopping carts,

backs bent from some momentary respite of

devilish pharmaceutical

and I ache for them,

but more for me because I cursed

at my only husband and now shuffle

beneath a guilt no copper penance