Reward Offered

By Birgitte Bröndum

 

I've been looking for

my anger.

I lost it

or it was stolen,

I'm not sure.

Either way, now I want it back.

I want my anger

to be unreasonable

and sudden;

like a tourist dropping her cell phone

on the marble floor

of an Italian church

so it breaks

with a loud embarrassing

noise.

I can't recall the shape

of my anger.

Sometimes I think I see it

approach me

and I reach for it

but it always turns out

to be someone else's

anger, pointing at me.

I don't want secondhand anger.

I don't want

the anger residing

in clenched fists

and stiff smiles.

I want my anger:

the rigid, red rage.

Anger like a squealing piglet

on a factory farm.

If you have my anger

please feed it

a slice of your humble opinion,

force it in a box

along with one of those

small doll mirrors

and send it to me.