On My Kindness Poem by Glen Martin Fitch

When I consider
how our income's spent
as aimlessly
we wander far and wide,
or find receipts and bills
you tried to hide from me,
I wonder where our money went.
Good reasons for each purchase
you present
if I object or
whine or tease or chide.
The swelling of our debt
we've both denied.
I'm sure we're doomed.
Yet how can I prevent you
buying things
we simply do not need?
It's my fault too,
I know.
I try my best to be supportive,
yet our sorry state,
I'm sure,
grows worse each day
with greater speed.
In line I am as guilty as the rest.
They also shop
who only hold and wait.