by Glen Martin Fitch

I think you're always
looking for a fight.
You spring dive into isolation.
While we dodge your dribbled venom,
you pitch bile,
kick kindness,
bench press hate,
lob gall, punt spite.
Your figure eights of slander
are a crime.
Your marathons of grudges
all seem crude.
You sweat contempt.
You practice being rude.
And doesn't it take energy,
waste time?
Suppose you just relax.
Let people be.
No points. No score.
Forget resentments past.
If you want friends,
play fair,
your goals recast,
And be a sport.
Defenseless you'll feel free.
Hear this:
if not for us,
for your own sake,
Go hit the showers.
Give us all a break.


Glen Martin Fitch's picture

Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."

Last updated August 23, 2011