Reproach

When you suffer reproach,
You do so to stand again in proachfulness,
For you can not be proached upon, again,
Without you were proached before.
But like a good fool you wandered
Toward a something not known,
Shiny and alluring and almost certainly expensive,
And as you stood there beneath the wantonness of plastic
You heard a sound as of your mother's voice,
And behold, her face, mouth corners turned down, looked upon you as if to say,
"Draw near to me, and do not go so far again."

So, you return, eyes down, head down, shoulders down,
And walk fifteen paces back
Where skirtside you waltz among tomatoes and cereal boxes
Through the grocer's aisle,
Where one who cares for you unyielding
Puts food into your cart.