Two jerks decide our crowded airport shuttle
is just the time and place to pick a fight.
Those forced to overhear remain polite,
pretending not to understand unsubtle
fusillades of blame and blunt rebuttal
because they’re in a foreign tongue. (Yeah, right:
like peevishness and pettiness and spite
need captions.) Captive, lacking room to scuttle
away from this unleashed barbarity,
the civilized – too well-behaved to sigh –
trade sidelong looks of solidarity.
I’d seek their kinship (feigning parity),
but lack the heart – the nerve – the gall – to try.
Mom’s one of those two jerks. And so am I.