Monday, September 10, 2012

Fuck It

Fuck you.
Fuck the state you’re from.
Fuck its college football team.
Fuck every jock that ever got to feel you up under your shirt.
Fuck the three hundred people in your high school’s graduating class.
Fuck your community theatre, the fake Irish bars on your main street,
and your local zoning ordinances.
Fuck your family’s affordable house,
painted in muted and inoffensive tones.
Fuck your white ethnic food festivals.
Fuck your enormous supermarkets.
Fuck the diner massacre that happened thirty years ago
that’s only notable because it’s rare.
Fuck your exacting economic segregation.
Fuck your above ground pools.
Fuck Arby’s.
Fuck the regional band that continues to exist
because of your terrible taste in music.
Fuck your big happy dog
and its big happy owners.
May it never know rent control.
Fuck your outlet mall.
Fuck the love that made you,
that let you believe you could hack it
in a place that mattered
despite having neither the stomach or spite
Fuck Miller High Life.
Fuck your big goofy smile, your sun-soaked freckles
and your common decency.
Fuck your lack of appreciation for bitter jews
on our worst days.
Fuck your competent road workers
and the short waits at your DMV.
Fuck your kindness.
Fuck your originality.
Fuck you for being different
because you used to be exactly the same.
Fuck small-market baseball.
Fuck your non-existent public transportation
and your clean air.
Fuck your stubborn, persistent
your inability to reduce things
to the cartoons they are.
Fuck your warm voice
and the truth it drops,
meticulously laying out what is,
what isn’t,
and what you goddamn well should know by now.
Fuck you,
that I am caught off guard
and for a moment, unashamed,
resentful of the halfway kitsch
my neighbors trade in,
that I would hear you rattle off
every mundane sliver of language,
that my heart would beat a building down
to hear it.

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