The Anarchist in My High School

Capitalism is such rancid
business, and you cannot
wait for a stranger to hijack
your Audis, your suits, the
golf trophy that your son
occasionally jokes about
feeding to his dog, but there
is not enough breath in your
cancer-ravaged body for
anarchist propaganda anymore,
and so you sit there with your
your cigarettes and your
cars and your dead feelings
and you wonder why anyone
with a sane mind would allow
themselves to get this old.