Poem: Impatience

This is the look of an impatient man,
pretending to be patient.
Sweat beading on my forehead,
upper-lip, palms, and groin.
Soaking through my underwear, undershirt.

I hate the person in front of me in line,
I hate the cashier of my line,
I hate the store I'm shopping at,
I hate myself for needing whatever
it is I am in line for.

The Devil is near.
My senses are on overdrive,
heart pounding in my ears,
prickling with every new movement
in my vicinity.
The Devil's possessing the body
of the person in front of me;
causing them to move slowly,
fumbling for change,
counting out every penny,
just to fuck with me.
They know I'm waiting,
The Devil knows I'm waiting,
that's why he fucks with me.

(Part of me knows I'm wrong,
that everyone's innocent.
Including the Devil.
This doesn't stop me from
hating them all.)

My turn finally comes
and I disingenuously let
the old lady behind me
go first,
hating her for accepting my offer,
hating myself for making it.
The Devil laughs at my gesture,
feeding off the extra pain
my masochism has created.

Finally she's done
and my medicine is passed over the counter.
Fresh wind blows over my body,
my task is complete.
Free again.
For now.