Freewrite on anger

It's a lot of work
to be mad inside all the time
like when you get steamed
and everything seems wrong
and you want to take on
the whole human race
in a free-for-all
like there was nothing else
to die for.

Pulling knives each time it hurts my mind,
this postal warning of death
sent to the wrong address with postage due.
We fold small memories
and put them inside manila envelopes
because at the time
it seemed like the logical thing to do.
These difficult sad things
we've all had somebody die
at one time or another.

When I get mad,
I throw a tantrum
and expect everything
to take care of itself.
And when it doesn't
I get sick to my stomach
and nothing will make it go away.
She was dead couldn't stamp her feet
nor cry
and it stayed all inside
until one day there was an explosion
like when a flowerpot drops.

1 April 1986
John Oliver Simon's workshop on nothing