Complications of a Post-Compost Poster Child Composition

I've been recycled —

historically, the decomposer

has become the decomposed

with some regularity, you see,

so, excuse my vulgarity,

but this is not my first rodeo.

The row we hoe

from hell up to heaven

compels us to grow,

so when a belligerent bozo named Kevin

or Marcus or Alan

demands a pound of flesh

or perhaps a gallon

of fresh blood,

we are flooded

not with anger and lust

for revenge, but with compassion

instead. Needs must,

and selfishness, after all,

is a trustworthy

method of materialistic fulfillment.

But that frosty glass,

it's never more than half-full.

We who've ridden

that high-tech bullet

train to disappointment

know first-hand the fate

of the self-obsessed.

Thus, we arrest

our hatred, extend pity instead,

make it clearly expressed

that we get it. That said,

forgiveness given freely

is no substitute for change;

do not mistake my overlooking

your derangement

for approval.

I do this for me,

as much as for you.