In the back row
of the solemn service
head on my shoulders
I wonder how
to encourage my child
to not participate in Empire
that would put to death
for instance an innocent figure
associated with education.
I turn her head away
from intermittent flashing
lights through stained glass
grateful each verse
of these once a year hymns
are quiet enough to keep
her awake but still in my arms.
The words emphasize
too much individual sin.
On the drive home
I shift the rear view mirror
so that the lights
from aggressive tailgate drivers
do not interrupt her reverie
before the inevitable
overtired cries on the way
to a temporary bed.
If only evil itself
could be a gesture or
a glance away from presence.
This story gets retold
at least once a year.
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Joshua Keiter 