Death And Empty Pockets

The pastor gave
her funeral words
in the south
at a chapel
I’d never been
to pretend everything
was just fine.
It’s not and
it never was.
My heart breaks
not for him
but tears, they
spread for me.
Unproud of me
his eyes were
so of me.
Never good enough
was I inside.
I hear sniffles
and deep breaths
from folks who
never gave a damn
until the whisper
of an inheritance
jingled their pockets.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

(WattpadAmazon KindleSpillwordsThe Writers Club)

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