Apathy

On the green the students
circle around a woman who brandishes
the Bible like a gun.

“You will roast!” She decries
pointing her bulky finger.

Students take turns stepping into the
circle. “I can see your panty line, sinner!”
they scream and “Whore! Whore!”

A kid hands one of the screamers a soda and
slams his own soda into it. “Cheers.”
The students laugh.

I am only there to see
the girls lying in the grass,
waiting for the sun to cook them
until they’re succulent.

A foam hot dog with arms
and legs comes around
campaigning
with propaganda
of his own.

An ex-girlfriend, tearing the
blankets and pillows out from
underneath, discarding me
to the floor, told me
my apathy
was astounding.

Sweetheart, nobody knows
that better than I do.

I wish I could fasten myself to the circle,
but, for me, destiny lies stillborn,
like a fortune cookie, shattered before
I could crack it open.