Do you think that I, like Jeremiah,
had come to give your soul an enema?
I don’t even know the proper orifice.
I only wanted to box your ears,
smack you upside the head,
vent my rage at all you did and said.
But those Jews with their predilection
for over-interpretation, they
called it something else, something noble.
They hoisted me on their shoulders
and ran me through the streets, cheering
to the palace, and I, not wishing to disappoint,
yelled at you my condemnation,
the sort of truth a child tells,
or a man with Asperger’s,
the sort of truth oblivious
to social consequence,
the impulsive truth
of a phrase ill chosen
but well spoken.