Prisoners

He is there, 
on the woman's shoulder
and she carries his corpse all over town
nobody can see it, but it is so heavy,
that she barely drags her feet… 
whoever tries to come closer
hits against it as against a wall

the lich, tightly chained 
to her wrists, to her ankles
stinks the stench of memories
of what might have been good times
and of unfulfilled promises of a better tomorrow

a few passers-by, kindhearted or greedy,
have tried to help her, to offer their shoulders
to no avail as she caresses the shackles 
with the tenderness 
of a mother caressing her sleeping child

blessed be oblivion