There are those threshold moments during the day

when you’ve just had enough of all the interruptions

and want more than anything for people to stop

entering the room for even good reasons,

where instead of yelling at someone to shut up

and sit the hell down, you turn your back on them

and slow your heart rate the hell down.

And isn’t it always ironic that it’s that same space destroyer

who’s always the first to tell you that

you’re not looking at them is like a kind of cancer,

and that you better cut it out.

I mean, it isn’t like they are telling you how happy they are

that you give yourself some quiet time and space,

but more like you walked into a fight

between a fatherless son and a bitter mother

about him sprinkling on the toilet seat,

and she’s saying you’ve got to be kidding me

with this look on her face that suggests

there’s no money left in the bank account.

There was a time you could say somebody kill me,

and not worry about being admitted to a psychiatric unit,

where you could struggle to find the perfect words

for communicating your emotions and, and, and,

not have someone finish your sentence for you,

and do they even realize how incompetent they sound

when they do that? It’s like all this talk of pronouns

and which one to use, when Jesus Chris, just pick one

and fill in the rest with context, would you?

The way I see it, if there’s ever a shot at common sense again,

it starts with somebody standing up

in the middle of someone else’s lectern moment

and telling us it’s not about hearing what everyone has to say

that makes us open and truly valuable,

but about making sure everyone, and not just the privileged,

have a forum for saying anything.

Have you ever noticed how it’s always the public speaker

who’s telling us we have a voice and should be expressing it?

Yeah, that’s a problem.

Almost as big a problem as the fact that there’s a somebody

somewhere who keeps telling himself he’s better off not knowing

what happens in other people’s homes,

while another somebody in one of those anonymous homes

who doesn’t want to be talked to, tells him or herself

their child is behaving like a selfish little you know what

for interrupting their sacred cup of coffee, and instead of

explaining that, ends up yelling at the kitchen ceiling that

everybody, including God, should shut up and die.