The Obviate

The problem is, as one might guess
that there are no more questions
to ask, no more fights to pick.
There is so much more waiting
to do and although it is pleasant
to realize that realization
is better late than never or early,
it is still saturated with our agony.
One of the finer features happens
to be the anticipation of astonishment,
the first few flinches to the monumental
throes of horror and gasping,
those of the siblings and left hand
being the hardest to hear and worst
to contemplate now. Should we have
tried harder to dislodge insolence,
forced them to see the difference
between the accidental right
and this pitiable no nonsense certitude?
Would it have mattered at all
to inform them of our own
perserverent sadness caused by
their lukewarm guesses
as they ignored our pleas,
the truth that lurked behind
their gazes? How many sins
sped between handshakes and gum?
Which day might have been the right one?