Your Slippery Tales
A poem
Your secrets want
to slip off my tongue,
but still, I swallow them.
I gulp them down,
hoping nobody notices
them bulge in my
throat as they travel
bellyward for digestion.
“Don’t tell a soul” you say,
yet, the discomfort
lingers, tightening its
grip until I am a snake
coiled round the debris
of your clandestine tales.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved
