Idiot
You, sir or madam, are an idiot.
Oh, don't complain with wincing, wounded expression,
it doesn't further your case at all,
but I suppose you wouldn't know that
what with your misaligned synapses.
Take your mismatched legs – the left
longer than the right –
and shuffle away, zombie-like
(it's the only thing you do well; savor it)
with the rest of the idiots; your own kind.
I'll be right behind you
with guns and gasoline and grenades,
a newspaper, a book of poems, and
if that doesn't work,
I'll put on a stupid, vacant stare
and see if I can't
find the meaning in these wretched lines.