Pussy-footing

A poem for my family at Thanksgiving: 

It’s the great white way

to traipse verbally around a

subject, avoiding any meaning

or complimenting freely

from the back of the hand

or the bottom of a martini.

 

And when one learns

the shortest distance from

a to be is a direct route,

a zipline of my words,

like a child who can walk,

it becomes a habit to speak

thus, in all situations.

 

But the delicate sensibilities

of the elite passive

aggressive and somewhat

intellectually dim, get

offended so easily by

crystal clear communication

and thoughtfulness

which has been fully formed.

 

It isn’t any wonder Thoreau ran

screaming to live alone in the woods.

I’m still searching for the place

where words can be understood

as a means of communication,

not offense, for people

who feign frustration but simply

are too obtuse

to actually comprehend their meaning,

much less their responsibility.

 

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