Humans never stay very kind for long.
Most days we’re defined by actions at work.
Most nights we’re resigned to our lonely songs,
deny our roles in a world gone berserk.
Last dinner party, our smug minister
crucified his wife with rusty-nail words.
His calm smirk implied nothing sinister
had scourged his chosen partner. How absurd
he seemed in his pure-white collar. I thought
of hollering You’re a prick! Then gripping
and ripping his ebony vest. Grace fought
my reflex, I suppose. Sent me tripping
off muttering a curse, in verse, of course.
I’ve read in the press she’s filed for divorce.
Roger Armbrust
July 8, 2010
