by Charles P. Ries
I’m tired of being a good Buddhist.
I’d like a few of my old attachments
back. Wrap a tasty wad of anger
around my fist and pound it home.
Just one compassion-free day.
A day without detachment,
and right action. I’d let my ex-wife
know that someone is alive in
here and “Hell if I care you’re
a young soul with a tortured past!”
Compassion in the hands of a novice
is like wearing a sign on your forehead
“Please beat the shit out of me.”
So, come to think of it, I guess I do
have a few attachments dangling
from my purified psyche. Maybe
I ought to kick his holiness in the God
Damn Ass for putting me in this prison
beneath the Bodhi Tree.