When I’m at my most loving,
which is incredibly rare,
I will examine why I am so vitriolic in my judgement and impatience
with Henry Spartan and try to give myself a chance to justify
my unfair rude behavior
toward another human being who’s just trying to get by.

The fact that he’s got autistic characteristics
shouldn’t cause me so much frustration and anger,
I know.
I ought to be able to handle his idiosyncrasies much better than I do.
Still, I suspect that I fear my reflection
in his actions.
When he doesn’t know how to navigate a conversation
I worry that’s me in every other conversation.
When he blithely asks for favors
in such an unsubtle way
I worry that I do the same.
I am afraid that the barrier between us
may be only one that I imagine
which is why I keep him at arm’s length.

I am unnecessarily cruel
with the guy,
which I am always aware of
but I’m only willing to address
when I’m at my best
and thinking that I’m not so bad,
after all.

Then
I consider I can do something about what I have done
and what I might do again.
I can’t, but
I think I can.