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Cornucopia
The cornucopia of confusion
is the one thing I doubt we are
punished for in the end.
Children munching Apple Jacks
on God's living room carpet,
how were we to even guess
our own consequences,
that an unkind word
was so unkind after all,
or the daydream, looking
out the window toward
the Pixie Stick store
where nothing we ever
came back with was the right
choice in Grandmother's eyes,
spoiling us for wholesome peas
and sweet potatoes nobody
mentioned took effort to peel?
How were we to know any
of that innocent failure meant
we weren't in the right place
with our minds on the right goal?
Go ahead, children.
Climb the neighbor's hill
and slide down in your
new clothes through damp leaves.
Go ahead and eat the angel food cake
on the back porch after everyone
else has gone to sleep.
You couldn't have known better,
and someone tomorrow will laugh
at the smushed places where you
tried to hide your mistakes.
