“Son of a bitch!”
He screams
Spitting, gushing, almost foaming at the mouth

Straight armed and rigid
Leaning forward like a sprinter at the tape
Only he’s not running
More like gushing
Walking fast
Troll-like in form and figure
Railing against some perceived injustice

High school kid
But the pathology is well-defined
Biology manifesting behavior
Nobody’s fault
Somebody’s aching heart for a son dealt a very tough hand
They’re all around us
Though the narrative maker makes us conveniently forget

Someone hollars out, “Lucas!”
But he’s gone
Muttering incoherently
Making his way

Life can be a son of a bitch indeed
But it’s best to not avert the eyes

Everyone loves looking at beautiful symmetry
But it’s tragedy and ugliness
Lack of symmetry
Big and small
That manifests a compassionate eye