Bitterness--
Like dried, expired chocolate--
Is duller than listening to
Him talk about politics;
Waiting for it to rain
Then watching the sun come out
And hour later;
Craving a new cup of coffee
Only to walk two miles
To the stores to buy new creamer,
And coming home to find the mug
Cold as a ten year old corpse,
And the power is out
So I can’t heat it up
In the microwave.

I go out again,
To Starbucks or to Caribou,
Whoever is more likely
To ***** up my elaborate order
(The former);
I ignore the barista’s niceties,
Disappointed by my own
Social skills;
I chug,
Twenty minutes later
I’m still tired.

More discouraging
Are the shrill voices of my
Authorities;
Angry stirred with
High expectations or, sometimes,
Just angry.
Teaching me their definition
Of quick succession
And looking before leaping;
Yelling at me too…
Smile;
Calling for some…
Appreciation;
Yearning for some
Uncalled for
Domestication.

My head beats its drum,
Because every civil war
Needs a drummer boy
And the battle starts
With a rhythm.