Yes, I bear a grudge.
It's big. It's huge
and it's making me grind my teeth
as I try to get some sleep
late at night.
No, I'm not all right.
There's a smudge in our lives
A stain on my cloth,
as, for sure,
on those of many - countless - other wives.
True, I am not certain
How much of the mess I created
What part of the fault
is my own.
Still, at night,
when I feel weighed down
by this burden
it is you I envisage
when I inadvertedly frown
as if you were a cruel
little mischievous child
and I
a poor, professional clown.
