Revisionist Poetry – Out of Sight, Out of Mind?, v.4 – sardonic

The flames rise to take their bows behind the curtains;
we supply the kindling and sign the receipt.

Sadness clocks in at nine, sips the coffee of routine,
answers happiness’s calls with a polite, scripted apology.

Wood gets promoted to coal, coal retires into ash —
each stage files a cleaner, quieter claim.

Expectations arrive in decent suits and good intentions;
joy takes a smoke break and misses the meeting.

Flames practise vanishing like competent thieves,
leaving only neat, explainable scorch marks.

Old grief keeps the souvenirs stacked like unpaid invoices,
stamped: NOT FOR RETURN — with my name in the corner.

Out of sight? Fine. Out of mind? Brilliant—
except the bill keeps coming, in my name, with interest.