I Am Forgiven

I’m sailing down the road burning fossil fuel, fouling the air with exhaust made by my noisy, powerful engine, slaughtering countless insects, the occasional bird, rabbit, cat, deer, and dog, when I suddenly realize what an insane, barbaric thing I’m engaged in — all of this destruction at my hands while sitting in comfort and calm, with dials glowing, gauges, fabric, plastic, leather, and shiny knobs. I am a murderer, yes, and yet I am breaking no laws. I slow down, pull over, park at the side of the road. I get out of the car, throw my keys into a ditch, and walk the rest of the way home. By the time I arrive, I am centuries old. I am a poet. A seer. I have hair on my nose. I fashion a cane for the coming millennium. Little children gather ’round. I am forgiven — for what, they don’t know. For all.

broken tea cup — at the thrift shop
I give the change to charity

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