We Were Wrong

"You would rage
and yell
at the radio,
beating your
fists against
the wheel,
pickup truck
defender of:
the unborn,
the persecuted
believers,
the misunderstood
protester."

We got fat
together, and
I find it
amazing that
we didn't notice
it all then:

the sins
of the family
and of sugar
in our blood.

The box
between us
on the bench
seat slid
back and forth
as we tossed
used, sticky
bakery tissues
into the box
in turns.

You would rage
and yell
at the radio,
beating your
fists against
the wheel,
pickup truck
defender of:
the unborn,
the persecuted
believers,
the misunderstood
protester.

Stretched out,
sleeping off
a glucose high,
my quiet
contentment
was a dangerous
consent.
------

The Collected Chaff, v. 1.0