Last Mojito, The

Conscience

Bart Edelman 41 Conscience Samuel Clemens tried to kill his— And rend it to bits, But he could never catch it, Chasing the poor fellow each night Around his Hartford home. What a racket he created, While his wife and daughters slept Frightfully sound in their beds— Dreaming of nothing but dread. Alas, poor Abe Lincoln, Who had such ambitious plans To free the slaves and end the war. Yet every decision he made Left him wandering, exhausted, Through the White House halls And down the back stairs, Leading to his mistimed death Before the curtain dropped. And what of us all? Plagued by the moral sense That distinguishes right from wrong, Always nipping at our heels, Like a bitch in heat. Where do we find The simple solace we seek When our foe masquerades As this conscience we keep? ...