Bam Bam

That’s the trouble with life,

everyone has their reasons.

Jean Renoir

Do you see where the little wars begin?

How in love you are with your opinion,

how little you hear me as I speak to you,

so intent on formulating your response

and how moral I am feeling right now

with this observation of you.

Volleys of monologues.

So it goes ME YOU ME YOU US THEM,

Bam Bam

Tiny gun battles unconsciously rehearsing the larger struggle

gihads, fatwahs of personal opinion.

The obsession to be right

the right to quick anger,

miniature hostilities that begin with tiny bullets,

subtle wounds, undercover hurts,

smoldering coals stoking, smoking toward conflagration

of how in love you are with your own opinion

and how perfectly gloriously righteous I am feeling now

with my lofty scrutiny of your imperfections,

waiting to win the next volley.

Moths flying into flames.