Do you recall being outraged when your foolishness was questioned?

I reach back in time,
as memory serves,
to see I stand before
the authorities,
the powers that be,
my parents

They wait,
the illusion of patience
thick upon the moment,
for I have been afforded
the opportunity
to explain my crimes,
and, if I can manufacture
an argument well presented,
reduce them to a
misdemeanor

I know now that
my failure as a litigator
was less a matter of skill,
and more that I didn’t
feel compelled
to make sense