Brigid Faye, Reader

People don’t remember you

When you’re always passing through.

From one harbor to the next

Always there are secrets kept.

Every party has its drug,

And things swept under the rug.

Some people tell,

Some people won’t.

Karma knows

Which hands are dealt.

I’m not around when justice calls,

I hear rumor of great falls.

For every match has a maker,

And though no fault,

Responsibility carries.