The meeting was off to a start so good
there were homemade cookies
and bottled lemonade iced down in a cooler.
The knitters guild gathered in the cliché
of a church basement dimly lit.
The colorful skeins strained to show off
their true colors as they were added
stitch and purl to the scarf or hat or sock.
A scheduled interruption came in the form
of an art council member hoping for help
in yarn bombing the downtown square
with wraps for the trees and the light posts
which would be sure to activate a love
for arts and culture and enrich the experience
of shopping local, and everyone nodded
with excitement except one woman who
spoke up with indignation so self-righteous
it sprayed hot oil on the helium balloons
beginning to imagine what they could have
been part of if it weren’t for the poor
children below in such great need of things
like scarves and hats and socks that were
made each week by this generous group
who now knew which one of them was
morally superior, and none of them seemed
capable or brave enough to disagree with her
though each of them felt a prick of bitterness
working its way into the needles and yarn.