Crime and Transgression

The new driver's license is in my wallet.
As it was processed I worried about
unpaid parking tickets
as state computers swept my past
for crimes and transgressions
against the social order.

They did not find my true guilt:
jealousy and rage when love
called late from the poetry reading;
daughters left alone to confront
their mother's shame, anger, and divorce.

Regret is an algorithm ones and zeroes despise.

I heard a woman the other day recount
her rape at twelves and extol the daughter
who grew up with her like a sister.
Just minutes before, I'd hated
her loud, abrasive words,
but as she told her story
she sat transfigured in the dark
of the bus, laughing raucously
with her husband, the driver.

Sometimes I stand mute before
beauty and time, stunned
silent by the angel
that redeems disgust
and graces those who others
would corrupt with hate.

I think of these things from the train platform
as commuters gather for a late morning
train to the city. A big crow caws
from a power line, my black muse
of desolation and renewal.

(c) copyright 2012 Charles David Miller. All rights reserved.