Eschatology

taking my stand
at the top of the slide
I glare at the line of children
chanting up at me

cry baby, cry baby, cry baby
cry baby, cry baby, cry baby
blue tears blur crimson rage
cry baby, cry baby, cry baby

the yellow-mouthed woman
has organized this attack
in retaliation for my outburst
towards a hay-haired miniature

demagogue and her pride of
speech-impaired lackeys
that rendered them confused,
floundering over one another

as I rushed at them roaring
my outrage at their preemptive
ostracization - teeth bared,
hair disheveled from my nap

the man with the dirty shirt
and the nicotine woman do not
like to hear more than one
child’s voice at the same time

my apex of volume violates
the agreement
only they
seem to ratify

when the acid tears come
stinging, sharp, affirming
they do not stop
even when the woman demands

just stop your crying, stop!
there’s nothing to cry about!
fine, I’ll give you something
to cry about

children,

come here