Monday, September 28, 2009

No Good Deeds.

I don't do the work I should be doing. Your wife putters about in her kitchen, whistling a tune

under her breath, oblivious to the suffering outside.

You are dull of the mind; you get angry when you don't have to
be angry; the words roll off your tongue.

I try to have a good conversation with you, but you glare at me
from hunched shoulders,
like a gargoyle, and shout swear words to me in Spanish-
I don't know what words they are, shithead, damn, fuckturd,
that one was your favorite.

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