So sad, so sad

Wringing a tear or two from dry eyes

Pretending to care

With a ragged, anaemic intensity

A fantastical song and dance meant to beguile

But enough of all that

Leave the histrionic wringing of hands

To hold them out in impatient expectation

Outrage someone else may get more

Sly suggestions dripped into vulnerable ears

So sure they’re most deserving

And for what

Is it worth all the bitter taste

Of fighting your nearest and definitely not dearest

To choke on money when all is done

I don’t comprehend

I don’t think I ever will.