“Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that. Well, then, however the old sea-captains may order me about—however they may thump and punch me about, I have the satisfaction of knowing that it is all right; that everybody else is one way or other served in much the same way— either in a physical or metaphysical point of view, that is; and so the universal thump is passed round, and all hands should rub each other’s shoulder-blades, and be content.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick
there are some times
i want to use
my middle
finger so bad.
i see it coming,
some idiot,
annoyance, stooge–
realize
that everyone
is watching, waiting,
tighten up,
and hesitate
my finger into
a balled fist,
put it away
for better judgement
and self-
sustainability,
and think
this is what people
must feel like
when treated unfair,
i can’t do
what i want…
certainly,
only because i have
been told i never
feel like that,
or have felt it ever,
not possible.
tho, every-
thing is.
still, my middle
finger is upset,
turned in,
depleted of its work,
unwelcome
and put down,
in our new
america, spectacle-laced
obsession, critique
readied, voluntarily,
unwarranted
society.
(surely assume:
white, well,
and un-wanting;
but caste that observation
not unto others
of course.)
tho, putting
my finger away perhaps
means tacitly to: fuck off,
tho, we feel
that this gesture
is always unacceptable,
yet i think.
(holds up middle finger while smiling)
