You carry conclusive statements
like you know
the end from the beginning,
have the verdict from the judge,
the presiding member
of an end-times jury.
You call it child abuse,
and murder – you are
a character assassin,
your slogans a series
of slicing pronouncements resulting in
curbside fatalities, pedestrian
He was silent
and then he said, let you
who has no sin cast the first stone,
let you who has no sin.
I try to look away but see
your elder hair, your time worn face
your commitment to a particular flavoured faith.
I see your sandwich boards and signs,
huddles on your gang’s turf,
warring against the other side
where girls walk, drive, ride
a gauntlet to the clinic.
I imagine they have tried
to find another way through tears
and bargained prayers, lost sleep,
arrival at a cross-road and
a choice. This.
And you choose. That.
I drive by. Each Tuesday.
I want to drive through. Over-righteous
indignation, then ashamed
I am not blameless yet I blame.
I once shared your state of mind, now
no longer sure, I am witness while I drive by,
every Tuesday, before 9.
He was silent, finger marking dirt
with what…a symbol of his throne?
And then he said, let you
who is without sin cast a stone,
and the righteous weaponed ones all left.
And only he and she remained.
Neither do I condemn you, proclaimed
the voice of overcoming Love.
How then does it end,
me judging you judging them?
(apart from any conversation about sin
which I am clearly choosing not to enter in
because it is much bigger than I can entertain)
My commentary though cathartic is just the same as what you do…we cancel love. Enough.
Enough. Enough. Enough.
Dear God forgive me I have said enough.
Forgive me for what I do not do,
and what I do, not knowing.