We don’t see eye to eye.

Who should win American Idol?
“Constantine,” loud and final.
Game-boy, cell phone, sports car, I
long to fill that hole with street tar!

I say, “You’re opinionated,”
and you think it a complement.
“Well, no one cares what you think,
either!” and I say, “Exactly.”

Assisted suicide, simplified
to: “What would Jesus do?”
(Coincidently, just as you would choose.)
Your platitudes are parrot squawks

that grate patience to powder.
You say, “I have to speak out.
Silence means approval!”

Please, never mistake
my silence for approval.

04/15/2005

Author's Note: A trite swipe.

Posted on 04/15/2005
Copyright © 2026 David Hill