The Last Recluse

8 Fingers

4-22-21

The confusion was palpable.
I heard your internal monologue
in slow-mo and it still sounded like
you were born without thumbs
as a method of communication.
My brain tried to jack it off
as a random occurrence, but
sometimes ignorance is thicker than
the most submissive truth.
You'll call it what you want in your
discretionary, arbitrary new
language of resentful discontent,
and we'll relegate you to the end
of history you rightfully deserve
to be on. The only thing perhaps
you'll ever be right about.