To All You Assholes
You got your hair cut and you grew a ‘stache.
You sat beneath the orange lights and bitched about rich people
and their excesses,
rich boy.
You told me what a nice guy you were
while winking at Becky when my back was turned
and unsuccessfully attempting to subtly insult me.
No, your veiled cruelty did not go over my head.
We argued about war and pacifism.
I still laugh at Ho Chi Minh city
and find cities named after dictators absurd.
You think you’re hot-shit, don’t you?
You, the king of the “I’m-so-smart-and-and-smooth” crew.
The one thing you “look at me, I’m so cool” types don’t realize
is the cooler you think you are,
the less I find you cool.
Next time I see you,
please do not insult my intelligence
or try to make your sappy puppy-dog face at me.
It won’t work.
And please, especially, do not touch my shoulder or elbow or
try to play footsie with me.
You’re not my type, bud.
Quit my sight, you hair “Bear,”
or leave your pompous bullshit at the door.
copyright 2006 Katherine Andrews
