road rage: yours not mine

Your erect middle finger
Extending the rod of your discontent
To attract not lightning but malice,
As ants march towards a cricket's decay;
This has worked for you
But not now, this minute, of this day.
For i am not one of them
And pay you no mind.

The sun is pouring through young leaves
Displaying my favorite hue of green
And i stare attempting variations of words
That could possibly convey
The heavy antigravity
Growing in my chest.

But because of your aggression
You assume your masculinity is at test
( as an infant was your mother stingy with her breast?)
And i watch as you mark the inside of your window
With flecks of hate like polluted dew
Witness your grimace grow foam
As degradations are pushed between
Clenched teeth.

And i see you
But don't
See you
As I'm bathing in the sunglow
Growing in the chlorophyll light.
The face absent of retaliation,
Void of recognition of you,
Is mine.
No matter how many middle finger monuments
No matter how much your spit cleanses
The feet of your The Unnurturing Mother shrine,
I will not attend the gathering.
Will not be counted among the ants in line.

Reviews

[. serah .]

~ wow... seems like you wrote this in one breath, monsieur steeven... that's how perfectly emotions flow through this piece... ~ the images are very interesting and the most unusual and profound one for me is that of "The Unnurturing Mother shrine"... and no... you're definitely one of those ants...