Why so angry, Bluto?

p
o
e
m
s

Your low frequency growl inspires feelings of dread. You want

to seize the world by its neck, tear it in half with your

tombstone teeth. When you storm down the street, swigging

from a bottle of XXX and punching telephone poles to

splinters, fleeing hooligans dive down manholes, pull the lids

in after. Shivering houses roll up their front walks and slam

their own doors. But from her high window Olive leans out to

watch you pass. We know her weakness for brutes—has she

learned nothing? Don’t do it, Olive! But she does. Wotta man,

she sighs, throwing down a coy rose.

 

Martha McCollough is a writer and video artist in Chelsea, Massachusetts.

You Might Also Enjoy

Auto-Correct

Ladan Osman

“Lynch whenever works best for you.” I mean, “Lunch.” It’s too late. So come archived images of black bodies, hot.

poems

Pentecost

Marvin K. White

Looked up and saw on a telephone wire the most unbelievably beautiful black crow in East Oakland’s history.

poems

Baffler Newsletter

New email subscribers receive a free copy of our current issue.

Further Reading

 December 14

Now that John Kelly's on his way out of the White House, a closer look at the asshole in General's clothing.

Heads Up: We recently updated our privacy policy to clarify how and why we collect personal data. By using our site, you acknowledge that you have read and understand this policy.