A stack of vouchers
be angry with comrades of your choosing
who will not be permitted anger in return,”
only nobody is accepting them
despite your best efforts to spend them
and once you realize it,
you throw them as hard as you can at the bitter sky,
swearing and feeling tears press
against the backs of your cheeks, hot,
while you bite red grooves into your tongue.
One-by-one the little squares of integrity and indignation
flit down into gutter mud,
to take their places amongst the fallen.
The greatest talents in the world lie silently outside the cones of bawdy light cast by the pedestrian buzzing of incandescence.
Stop, thief! I would have my pound of flesh!