Volume 34, Number 1


I bought a bucket of rage from a
Street vendor. He was not charging
Sales tax, so I figured he was
Unlicensed and I got him to take
Ten percent off. I will not have to waste

Any of my rage on an inability
To drive a bargain. I put the bucket
In the trunk of the car I usually
Drive. Chances are I can best put it
To use when I am out to some special
Event: a ball game, a suspect
Religious festival, someone else’s parade.

It might be uneconomic, but I would
Not mind dumping the entire stash
Against one festivity, creating a commendable
Blossom of horror and disgust,
If circumstances are enticing enough.
Weeks I might hone the hatred, polish
The outrage, sharpen the inequities

Both created and perceived. Then,
At just the right moment, I can
Park the car, angrily pop the trunk,
And with both hands drawing from the bucket
Senselessly darken whatever random ritual
Celebration, gathering or ordinary
Afternoon, I have cunningly selected.

As long as I am destruction, I matter.

Perhaps I can set up an account
With this vendor, agree to meet him
Once a week wherever he plans to appear.
I have already made progress on the price.

—Ken Poyner