You

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This poem is not an accusation of you, dear reader.  Consider this poem as asking the question, What kind of person do I consider myself to be?  Am I observant of my surroundings, or oblivious?  Am I attentive to the needs of others, or uncaring?  Do I hold the door for others, or do I go through first and let it shut behind me?  When friends tell me about their successes and their struggles, do I one-up them with my own, or listen with excitement and empathy?  Consider this poem as my quest, and my invitation, to live life showing more consideration, more kindness, greater courtesy, and more civility (as I’m sure you do, being readers and writers of poetry!).

YOU

You are the kind
that pisses on the toilet seat,
that unplugs your nose in the men’s shower,
that swerves slapdash through traffic without signal,
that leaves your soiled dishes on the table, swaggering off to your football.

You are that type,
the type that tramples the flowers
and does not see.

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