A Sixpack of PBR Poetry 5

Waiting your turn may be a question of etiquette,
Social norm, control, or possibly just a polite sense of right and wrong.
I seem not to care,
As I move past in the line.

Shoot me an aggressive look,
It’s your stupidity I am attempting to move beyond.

I don’t ask permission,
I don’t ask why,
I don’t ask your reasons,
So pardon me pushing past.

I spent my time in line,
Confusion was my ticket number.
To do as my will commands,
Is just my disposition today,
And not some brave spirit quest.

I create my own facts,
And spread them as I choose fit.
I am not your definition of or for equality.
Your place is the back of the line,
With an eager soulless beggars cup.

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