good luck

all you mouthbreathing,
dimwitted nimrods,
sitting drooling over your keyboards,
with your tics and your twitches
in your worn out britches
(if that),
slobbering over your latest
stolen morsel,
someone's dignity,
someone's humanity;
as you swagger
and sway and push people
out of your way:
know this --
karma has very long arms,
and those oppressed
have long memories;
what goes around,
comes around, we know this
from all of life's stories;
you sit happy and fat,
but you fail to notice
that there is a crowd
surrounding you,
and soon, a fate,
confounding you,
as you receive your due --
I have only pity for you,
sorrowful I am not,
since you tossed the dice,
you cast your lot,
and mercy is not in my
repertoire, as it tends to
remind me
of where all the bodies are.

March 19, 2010, from the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage.

Copyright © 2010, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.

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