Anger Among Friends

Never mind

that curb-stomped ditch-bleed

no one loves. Let Hollywood

tend his schooled-scab gash-gore

if it must.

Let the ungodly

hoist that limp-slick flag-drip

to his feet

whisper balmy sweetness

in his confused ears,

sop his concussed brow

with gentle words,

make him forget

his prick's for sticking women,

one wife after the other

if you can't do better

or weren't alive

in the good old days

of Patriarchs

and Bible kings

and other men

after God's own heart.

Never mind him,

that less-than-him,

that stall-scrawl sham-him,

that middle-school sneer.

Let a neighbor

care: we'd throw rocks

if we could,

if it were allowed,

if the crowd weren't so thick

around him already,

weren't already dragging

him behind pickup-trucks

until his offending members disoffend--

throw them hard,

fell-well,

force-frack the freak

until his skull

crack

and pass

the natural gas

shale-trapped

in his soul.

But never mind him,

forget his grisly groan-grin,

for today we celebrate

the stalwart resolve of our onward march,

our prevailing cause,

the glorious proclamation

of our First Amendment right

to damn.

We the people,

the Hands and Feet of Christ,

do lift greasy-fingers

to our glistening lips,

to our fleshy mouths,

and tear the deep-fried fowl

in our pearly teeth.

We honor

Yahweh

and the Virgins Jesus and Paul

and Chick-fil-A

with this

holy display

of zealous

gluttony.