Caution: Reptiles in the Loch Below

we become hypocrites in the aisles
of markets
in salad days of small town illusion.

we became criminals in the eyes
of the pious
with every word we wrote, or said.

our monuments were baked in stone,
our names engraved near dates and poems,
outlining the character of hearts
and spades.

and if we had bothered to look up to read them,
there were chapters that would have saved us
all the trouble that we went to

just to make sure they were written,
to make sure
that we were still intact.