Now, he doesn’t have to leave his room.
In decades past, he wrote on bathroom walls
With all the courage of the newly scorned;
With phone numbers and “for-a-good-time-call’s”,
His sentiments, both crass and unadorned —
But now he doesn’t have to leave his room
To strike out at the women who he’s loathe
To admit were his poor libido’s doom,
And who (he wishes) he could each unclothe —
But like the wall obscenities of yore,
He’ll work to do what damage that he can:
And prove again, as has been proved before –
One can be male, and still not be
There’s a cruel kind of laughter
That wounds but only one;
And leaves the rest enjoying
The damage that’s been done
But cruelty is a cannibal
That shrinks from no repast;
And this devouring animal
Will eat itself
Isn’t it fun to laugh and joke
About the pain of others?
Isn’t it great to shove aside
Our sisters and our brothers?
Isn’t it just the cutest thing
To hate someone – and show it?
Isn’t it just so human to
Be cruel, but never know it?