Debts

You’re a ruthless debt,
the kind that doesn’t disappear.
The robot on my phone who frets,
“You missed another payment, dear.”
The butt-end of a stale baguette,
an overzealous volunteer.
You’re the single cigarette
that made my new car smell for years.


J. Davies

 
If you have any thoughts on this poem, J. Davies would be pleased to hear them.