All may be pardoned, except
for those abandoned by ancestral crimes
whose full reach remains unmeasured,
except as the vague but unending echo
of a drawn-out chorus of rarefied opinions,
and only then because no one
may be expected to volunteer exposure
to even a shred of such intense boredom.
Even in those tiny nooks of amusement
one person or another manages to find,
blips in the long view, there’s a sense
it could end at any moment,
if not through attrition, then through
a stealthy cycle of foreclosures.