The Art of Not Giving A Fuck

   
    
I don't care      
if you heard a word I said      
when I asked you to leave      
     
     
and I don't give a      
that you didn't take your boots off      
at the front door and walked mud      
through my home      
     
     
I certainly didn't give a      
when you flicked through my photo albums      
and left empty spaces      
where pictures of my daughter      
were once placed      
     
     
and I didn't give a fuck      
that my neighbours called the sherif      
when they saw you drive off in my pickup      
then pull over down by the edge of the woods      
to douse my wheels with gasoline      
then walk away with your back turned      
my pickup burning to hell      
     
     
I don't give a fuck      
if the sherif catches up with you      
or if my insurance      
comes good with the claim      
because I don't give a fuck      
if they found my keys in the ignition      
     
     
I'm more concerned      
with the bug guts stuck      
in the waffles of my boots      
than giving a fuck about the leeches      
sucking my blood      
from between my toes