Bourgeois World Poem by Terence Winch

At the party, we shouted insults at the hostess.
She served us raw fish/ we wanted red meat.
She hated our jokes about the dry heaves.
On the way home we saw a bunny in the headlights.

You smash the windows and toss the feathers.
You sit in the kitchen weeping in the dark
listening to the debate on the Senate filibuster.
Time is immemorial if the self is inconceivable.

The ceiling fans all fixed and going at once,
the house on the runway ready to take off.