March 7, 2007

If I had any room left for anger
I’d be angry with you
though you’ve done nothing more than
look like my mother
and process my peas and my milk

though your conduct’s been
no more offensive
than the counting of rolls in a
polythene bag and the ringing
to check on the price of some goods

and though all you’ve done
is ask me for five pounds 10
and have dyed blond hair
and a dark green uniform,
I would still be angry, with you.

I ‘d be angry with the car
that tried to slow down
in a misplaced effort
to be helpful,
with the driver of the bus

and the girl on the bike
and the guy with the
mobile phone.
I’d be angrier
than a thick red lake

of exploding algae,
than a sky that’s been
skewered with holes
and then told to
shine with them. Angrier,

than all the vicious things
you’d like to say
but never would
If I had any room-
it’d be nothing personal.


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