thanks Part Two

thanks, to all you misbegotten bastards
and woebegone bitches
who ever cut me off in traffic,
for all of the horrific accidents
that you kept me from;
thanks to all you unbelievably stupid
store clerks,
who studied my receipt
like it was the Rosetta Stone,
you kept me from many extra minutes
of an extremely useless life;
thanks especially to all the little old ladies,
who peppered me with questions
about why I was buying KY jelly
in the checkout line --
like I owed them some explanation
of her temporary dryness --
and for being so gracious,
when I told them of her illness;
thanks to all you SUV drivers,
particularly of the Hummer variety,
how is that workin' out for you,
you ostentatious motherfuckers?
soon, I will be able to back out
of a parking space at the grocery store
without feeling like General Custer:
just waiting for the right arrow;
thanks, to all you rich assholes out there,
the ones with the Mercedes-Benz
station wagons;
we already knew that you were assholes,
but the car confirms it, so we can steer
clear of you, and affirm it;
thanks too, to all you right-wing nuts
who would put form over substance,
dogma over conscience,
life over countenance,
a face, a place, a stage, a play,
over lives that will give much away
to the beginning of the start of the
end of time, those fragile souls who
would claim to be in line with all
that is good and true, and yet
you would banish them all,
for some music that rings in your
ears, but is not true; so many, so many
that you have tossed on that pyre,
yet all that you have wished for
will die as mere desire;
and thank you, as well,
for the fetid swell,
of all those who would be my
professional kin, you reporters,
you discoursers, you "journalists" all,
there are those of you, known,
who deserve the greatest fall,
for you speak not of truth,
or anything provable,
you speak of the missing tooth,
and of what is then permissible;
you cast all reason aside,
and then you beam and you glower
and you stand beside
the tower of babble that you have
erected, and you think that all
that you have expected
will come true;
well the joke is really on you:
no ceded conjunction,
no jam at the junction,
will ever conspire to suit you;
you are as you were,
a blemish to endure,
and time nor trouble
will not be wasted on you;
know only at least,
that seeing you cease,
is only part of what
will make our resolve increase.


March 2, 2010. From the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage.

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