I edge past pious prayer
chanted and poetic, pleading
a white father–benevolently
vindictive–to forgive them
as they forgive others.
And I’m grateful I don’t share
the words, because from this angle,
it appears they are asking
to be cursed. Opening their eyes
to chat over casual breakfast,
it’s snark and gloating over
the neighbors’ lack of propriety
and timeliness. The trash cans
left out overnight! The puppy unleashed
and scratching! Everyone ought to be
better. It’s clear in the mirror
they hold that I have work to do.
Who am I to judge?