Kloncke

I hate tyranny.
Believe me, I do.
Each day I resolve anew to smash tyrannical impulses wherever they may lurk,
and destroy tyrannical structures wherever they may lord.

Like the sea star, my many arms stretch in many directions,
each fending off an enemy,
and like the sea star my guts burst forth out of my mouth,
and from my belly I bellow:
“Death to tyranny!  Fuck you, tyranny!  Fuck you!”

But countering my thrusts are a thousand treasons,
and even more traitors.
Every hour, it seems, an ugly surprise.  A slap in the kisser.
I gamely push back.  No pigeon shall shit on my head!  It is declared.

No splinter shall burrow into my pinky,
No roommate shall pile up dirty dishes,
or sprinkle pubic hair on the toilet seat like an amateur parsley garnish.
No clock shall molasses its way through a boring psychology lecture
Or a morning at the DMV,
No mail delivery person shall give me the side-eye,
No ex-lover shall guilt-trip me with two tickets to Anthony Hamilton.

I fight every fight I can.
But these are just the preliminaries.
These are merely the foundational bricks of my anti-tyrannical fortress.
If I let these petty traitors get to me, I will lack the power necessary to defeat tyranny where it matters most.
So I grit my teeth and deplete my resources
(Each daily assault costs so many resources; it is truly exhausting.)

Let me tell you something.

One time, someone threw a glass of water in my face.
A fucking glass of water in my fucking face.
Can you imagine?
Who could do that to a person?
Not that it’s the worst thing been done to me, but still.
Who could ever justify throwing a glass of fucking water
In somebody’s fucking face?

At the time, what came to mind was a wind-battered cypress
reeling back from the treacherous coast, preparing
to strike the inevitable blow.