Bad Choice Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Well, huckin' fell, I could not hold your hand,
it was this thing I've had since I was born
no teacher would, nor could you understand
how, in my soul the shreds of decency are torn.

You died my friend, or should I call you that?
Without the comfort of the human touch,
I could not even give you one small pat
to see you off, I do not count for much.

It was your hour of great need and I was picked
the most inept of all your busy friends,
and as the clock inside your body ticked
you were just wondering how all this ends.

Your eyes were focused on my frightened face,
there seemed to be a sudden loss of light,
it was not you who stretched as for a brace,
and it was me who lost the will to fight.