Offense as sweet
As a box of raisins
You didn’t call me.
To offend a wizened grape
Is to offend me
Your hand as empty as a box
Of juice; I take the rain
Like I take the noise of children
Every nickel lies so forlorn on the tray
Bitterly remembering every grudge hugged
Come let us transact coffee and steam
Let us make a league of the offended
Dividing the milk of kindness
Until we are all even
–Eric Rasmussen
Beauty is Imperfection 