I pack my memories in little cages,

Wild beasts of an intemperate youth,

The struggle against the walls of time

And seek recognition-an admission of guilt.

But I am past the gremlins of that time.

No amount of persuasion will allow me to set them free.

However, the past clings to our skin like some terrible odour which

Present fragrances cannot mask nor dispel.

So at the helm of all affairs I struggle to shut the lid on

the excavations of my detractors; the grave diggers to bare the bones

of my past.

I know why I have always dreaded the undertaker.