Not Guilty

For thirty years the shit of guilt piled high
And a bitter wife was adding more each day.
My workplace brimmed with wrenching bitterness
That added even more than I can say.
 
The children did unwittingly their part.
They could not understand the searing need
     To fly away to safe and sane abode,
     To wash away the smelly, filthy load.
 
And now, again, I face the same offensive state,
     The need to prove myself…Worthy…
     Of trust, of love and respect.
 
Why must I work, every time we meet,
     To prove that I can be trusted?
 
You say — all men are the same —
     They only want one thing.
 
Damn it! All men are not the same!
     And I am not all men!
 
I am ME! And I am Not Guilty
     Of their offenses!