She wished
that she wished
she could punch someone
slash tires
key a side
short the sheets
serve plates of ex-lax brownies
unleash it all
in massive waves of malevolence
cleanse with flames
of blameless ire

she’d long suffered
from immoderate empathy
terminal humanity
and a frustrating predilection
for cheek turning
she was certain
failed to provide genuine closure
and was undoubtedly less satisfying
then hobbling ankles with hammers
or blooming heads on spikes

January 2014
Julie Ayers


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