reflex*

The mouth, it’s often faster than the brain
Before you know it you find
Stuck in it - your feet

I said something nasty to someone I cared for
Accusing them of what I was also guilty of
How that burns at the sudden realisation
Of my own shortcomings and the shame
The self-loathing at my rash retort
Knowing well how wrong it is
To try and pick a speck
From another’s eye
When in mine
Lies an
Oak







* written in the distant past