Clash

You stop talking
the conversation ends
with the finality of a guillotine’s drop,
a clean decisive silence
leaving no room for doubt
it’s done.

Like Pontius Pilate
our hand washing commences,
before either of us withdraws
a defiant embarrassed impasse 
heats our faces, and
with perfect synchronicity 
we fade.

As I gingerly rake through the embers
careful not to fan the flames,
I search for reasons, causes, fault
but it’s useless
everything has been consumed
including hope.

© Graham Sherwood 03/2018