Your accusations, your
While I take them apart
as I can, one by one,
quoting facts, names, dates,
while I again count up on my fingers my two,
three, four good points,
and shout my life out in your face
you say nothing: you look at me.
The ears that are red, the veins
swelling in the neck - what
are you looking at? I know, I know that goodness
is not like this.
But doesn't it rouse your pity
to see how
every day I am here