Cutting up the road

Cutting up the road the way a alligator mississippiensis knifes its way through the muddled sub-surface
(Its tail swallowing its past in violent reverie, fully at once a venereal verdict, slicing the
Immutable shallows with adept, animalistic simplicity. In short, this reptilian destiny is solely that of
Consumption.),

Your filthily besmirched automobile swam its way up the drive, warbling in
Guttural, repugnant shivers of exhaust. Naturally the ugliest and bluest green, the vehicular pigment is now
Indiscernible from a compound of the earth’s most craven elements which
Are caught up in its
Trusses; no disreputable road has gone untraversed by your 80s model, two-seat, American truck.

Which I
Hate as I hate you, you all the more so when the truck’s windows gaped open in hand-cranked blinks and I, rebuffed by revulsion at your stench soaked cab, fell backwards, a man charged by the
Beastliness of your ignoble existence. Out of the open car doors empty cheap cigarette boxes descended in tears one after the other, coming to rest upon the wholly unsympathetic,
Fallow earth. I immediately recognized them to be the chief culprits in the case of the
Absconded clean atmosphere.

Your cigarrettes are old. And cheap. And reek of ignorance. Like you.

Can’t you see that your grandson has autism? That he needs professional aid? That his quality of life should be drastically improved by holy, subsidized state therapy?

Or are you too selfish? Too uncaring? Too callous to the reproachful stares of society? Too slimy to heed the wretches of your prey’s death rattle—your grandson’s deep discipline problems?

Yes, yes,

You will never see. With your forked, double-lidded eyes you will carve your own way. And with your pointedly curving
Piss-yellow coloured toenails, you will mar his existence all the way to his coffin of rodent dropping floors
And newspapered walls.

Your reptilian existence sickens me and condemns your seed to death. He’d be better off a ward
Of the state. At least he would no longer suffer your repressively steel-jawed, crookedly toothless speech—the speech of fools and predators. The speech of a begrudged upbringing. The speech of heinous,

Malevolent neglect.



© Jordan Shea. July 2009.