The Patriot (a poem in free verse)

THE PATRIOT

Not that one,
the one higher up
I say to the store clerk,
finger pointing upward
at a can of
insect-killer
standing in rows
of cylinders
perfectly lined up
like an army
on that pharmacy shelf,
all approved poisons
for home use.


It is for the ones
who are coming,
them I hate.
I sense
those dangerous masses
of six-, seven-, or maybe eight-legged
creatures colored black, or white,
perhaps mottled groups
of brown slithering bodies
filled with venom
all crawling furiously
outside along the fence
to wait willfully by my closed door.
Their wails are false pleas,
tall tales of
seeking refuge from the deluge
fleeing fires lit by others
scrambling to come inside,
to hide and attack.


Thru the door’s
mesh of tiny holes
I kill them all
spraying the insect poison
swiftly, neatly,
hitting one, another, a third
then press the nozzle harder
to exterminate them all
wielding the metal can in my hand
with an utter disregard
for other options,
deaf to weak voices,
mocking my neighbors’ protests,
brooking no challenges,
taking no prisoners,
honoring no treaties,
offering nothing in return,
not even a coward’s defense.


THE END

(54 lines)