poem of the day 05.09.11

fucking idiot

she asks me
what time
the shops closes

i tell her
seven o’clock

thankfully

she asks me why
i say

thankfully

i tell her
well, that’s when
i get to go back to my life

she says
but a job is a part
of your life

it’s a means
to an end
i tell her

she says
well, i love my job

then
she walks
out of the store

i lock
the door behind her

watch her
waddle her
fat ass
over to her car

thinking

some people
in this world
need to be
slapped silly

beaten
with hollow reeds

drawn
and quartered

or hung
from their ankles
like
benito
mussolini