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.

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