They didn’t see me do it (I did it),
But merely heard the evidence:
Auditory indication of an event (a calamity?)
Of such substance as to repulse and,
Worse, occasion pity, fear and utmost disgust –
Thunderous excretion that
Carried out the open window,
Down the passage between our homes
To reach the backyard barbecue
On a sunny, Sunday afternoon –
Suburbia at its best, and in
One cataclysmic discharge, worst.
I could not look them in the eye for
Months, crestfallen by the guilt
And shame of being rough as guts –
and mortal. Averting eyes, I
Crossed roads, bowed in deference and
Hid in plain sight even as my children
Grew up and, as they’re wont,
Brokered the void till all
Seemed forgot; time-healed;
Though I suspect the word may be
“Forgiven”: acceptance of, if not a sin, then
A crime against decorum. No
Apology proffered, none taken; just life
Moving on – shifting beyond the
Stench of shame that filled the air.
It is impossible, in this world,
To witness life for long without
Becoming master of that art, that heart-strung
Craft. For surely comes the day when we
Perceive, not sweet delight, not fair, but
Foul; it shall draw near, sting tears, and
Leave us with that choice: to curl around
Our outrage, anger, angst, preserving it;
Or walk on, letting dust settle
On the bowl of fetid rose leaves;
Following not the footsteps of today’s woe, but
The promise of tomorrow’s love.
Our neighbours, at their best –
And worst – bring glory days that stretch
Decades (brass mugs upon the mantel),
But truth lies in the tarnished displays –
And how we see, hear, smell, taste,
Touch those leprous acts that
Cannot be taken back.
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