Uncivil

The angry woman
backed out of the garage
talking to herself, explaining
why she would
swiveled into the street and aimed
the car at the child who had asked for it

another one took a gun
tired of hearing the same cold voices
she didn’t comb her hair
why would she
knowing she wore fed-up like a battle mask
strode into the meeting and opened fire

I am angry too, or let’s say
distressed, full of sorrow
or nervous, or all of the above
I’d like to talk but even now
they are making their cheeks long red smears
from brow to chin a black stripe
they are putting on bone necklaces
figurative but obvious all the same

the human in their animal forms
is somewhere unreachable
and yet they speak
one opens the red cave of his smile
and a hundred lies wing forth

my hand is a fist that all at once
I remember how to make
thumb coiled loose
leaving bare the serrate knuckles
I put everything into it
I can feel the blow
how his bone would break
his flesh would tear
he would taste blood
and gape, astounded, heaving
like a hooked fish
and it would feel like smooth unburning fire
so good, so good
but there he stands
smiling
and my hand falls open

the pleasure drifts away, the sour delight
I say, out loud
I did not. I could not. Or perhaps I could.
I do not know.