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?

Inspired by: Pious, Grateful, Angle and Sammi’s prompt Judge in 95 words.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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