Damned Dirty Ape

Copping a feel, a vile 2013ager

who regretfully survived the apocalypse

with a perennial All Years’ Resolution:

Take, Dominate, Coerce, Humiliate.

Even my distant autistic cousin

with a history of violence

will stop touching if you ask;

he lacks that special sane disorder to disregard

will, humanity, stop signals, hurt,

for to forge an abhorrent concrete

atop any wild yearning grasses

that enliven, color and dance upon Earth.

One who triumphs in vanquishing

has celebrated historical pomp to rest on,

long venal veni-vidi-vici venae cavae

pumping into sick infarcted hearts

which drumbeat out the deluded

patriotic pulse of personal freedoms

conflated with callous exploits

perpetrated by the bloodlust class,

so I suppose no surprise that those with poison

arsenals of primitive weaponry

exact a terror on the open in the Underground

that we typically reserve for radar screens.

But recourse to analog or metaphor

does not degrade or downplay the act;

au contraire, it’s worse when recognized

as vaunted time-old tradition

that hits my family and me

with the same violence and force

as the abstract unpleasantness

I had previously only imagined.

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