I gave birth to myself.
I discovered fire so that I could eat
whatever I, alone, produced.
I didn’t read your books,
you read mine.
I coined all the phrases.
I invented the wheel
and built all the roads
that wheels carry my money on.
I did all this with no help from anyone.
I created the dial tones and cyberspace
and made all the deals.
I forged all my own tools,
and that includes you.
Now you want to abuse me
with your regulations and taxations.
Blathering about responsibility
and shared sacrifice.
Suck it up, weasels.
Next you’ll be wanting your own bootstraps.
I don’t care who among you
gets sick or dies.
It pleases me
to see the spite you have for each other.
You are blind and weak.
Even if you could see my curtain
you wouldn’t be able to move it
and know that I am there.
Tom Russell works for the Omaha Public Library in Omaha, Nebraska. His poems have appeared in The New Verse News, Shot Glass Journal, and Crab Fat Literary Magazine.
