by C. B. Anderson

As children, we were always told to tell
The truth, since lies are flimsy camouflage
Too obvious to ward the sting of hell
Administered inside a dark garage

To kids who made them up. The needful pains
Were not the worst of it, for more severe
By far were words that festered in our brains,
The dregs of lessons we refused to hear.

But now that we’ve grown older, things have turned
About: The punishment of cruel neglect
Is visited on those we might have learned
From years ago. What else should they expect?

And now, as then, the truth’s a shifting standard,
The same as if our folks had fawned and pandered.

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden. His poems have appeared widely in print and electronic journals over the past six years, and now his hands ache as much as his feet.

See links to all sonnets by this author

« Previous

Pat Jones
Published 28 July 2010