A General Pardon.

These days

I can find myself assaulted,

really out of the blue,

by scenes of my own folly

from this or that occasion in the past,

even from the very distant past.

Various errors, failures, blunders,

call them what you will,

come back to torment me.

It's all venial stuff, to be fair,

but important enough to linger,

to be dragged up.

Suddenly back there,

mortified, at times even blushing,

I swear in exasperation

and my head gives a quick shudder

in the manner of a disgusted cat,

shaking off the embarrassment,

disowning my involvement:

another self, a backward self,

intemperate, awkward, ridiculous.

But surely I'm not alone.

Unflattering memories

must weigh upon us all,

bringing the lot of us down

to a level lower than our ideal.

There we dwell together

in our common imperfection

and may find, if interested,

a certain absolution,

or so I tell myself.