I have reached a point of not
really giving a damn about what
you may be offended by.
Not a Rhett Butler scolding
a spoiled child kind of ambivalence,
no, more like angry
get out of my face before I lash out
in unrepentant violence
kind of scorn.
I find lately that I am inherently violent,
restrained only by propriety
and a rapidly becoming outdated
morality. To clarify,
I do not seek confrontation,
but have come to believe
myself capable of an extreme response.
I find I watch people more,
question their motives and intentions first
with no real concern as to how
they might feel about such scrutiny.
And if you are perhaps a bit more swarthy
than I, or if you display signs
of a faith more Eastern than mine,
and my gaze lingers on you longer
than the redneck with the Confederate flag tattoo,
well, too damn bad. The circumstances
of reality now supercede political correctness. I intend to engage
in a private profiling.
I look at my daughter, my son, my wife,
and realize that I cannot define
the limits of my response were someone
to inflict harm upon them.
I do not believe I would be capable
of placing forgiveness before retribution.
The steel jabs into the roll of fat above
my belt, just above my kidney,
but the discomfort is secondary
to the unease I would feel
were it not there. I get more used
to it every day.
You may protest me if you like.
My willingness to respond to violence
with greater violence — without remorse
or conscious — may appal you.
Does the very fact of my existence
As I stated before,
I just don’t give a damn.