My Brother

At work, late one August day,

a boy with coprolalia entered

holding the hand of his mother.

He began to shout expletives

at another shopper

and spat upon her

as she passed.

We do not blame the boy

but the condition that oppresses.

We do not hate the man

but the twisted seed of illness.

My brother is not my enemy

though he may name himself as such.

I take no offense

from my sister’s hate

but from the forces that compel her.

I do not hate the world

as though it plots against me

with willful intent,

but fight instead against its ruler

who leads by lust and lies

and subtle manipulations.

Our hearts yearn for justice

while our prayers plead for grace;

knowing the penalty

so longing for release.