Think of that chimp

who tore the lady’s face off,

and his owner called the cops,

and they shot him several times

before he finally calmed down,

dragged himself off to the corner of the kitchen

where he slept, collapsed on his bed, and died.

Sometimes I stare into the mirror and wonder

who would dial nine-one-one

if I tore that mug off?

And if somebody responded and I got mad

and they shot me to shut me up,

how many rounds would it take?

Likely just one, maybe two,

and I’d fall down and they’d drag me off

and I’d never even begin to make it back to bed.

So always decide to leave the deadpan hanging

one more empty day, despite suddenly furious –

especially if it smiles –  

the thing fails to look anything like mine.

Willie Smith

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