Anger

I’m not mad at the Jehovah’s Witnesses 

Who stand under my window 

They believe in god 

There they are  

I do my homework and watch them from up high 

It’s getting dark out there 

I’m not mad at the fire truck 

That keeps me up at night 

Someone’s driving it 

It’s the same fire truck I think 

That blocks the believers from my view 

I’m not mad at the homeless person who follows me to my door 

God, I’m not mad at her 

I’m not mad at the world 

And her hold on me 

I’m not mad at– 

There’s something in the bottom of my ribs that feels like rage 

I’m not mad at the dripping coming from the bathroom 

It was dripping after I showered too 

The dripping distracts me from my book 

But my book does not need to be read 

But I could turn it off if I wanted 

I’m not mad 

But I feel like throwing up 

And yelling at the Jehovah’s Witnesses 

For believing when I don’t 

I’m not mad at myself 

For whispering a curse after the quieting siren 

It keeps me up at night 

And I’m not mad at myself 

For being mad at myself 

For being mad at the truck with its driver  

And the believers with their literature 

And the dripping 

Dripping 

Dripping 

I’ll turn it off 

Photo by Ilya Sarossy