The war didn’t end all wars. Will kindness?
The tender, soul-swelling thrill of kindness.
Plague in our nursery rhymes, a fallen
bridge. The cracked skulls of Jack and Jill. Kindness
absent. We taunted, Chris Piss wears girls’ pants,
disdained runt, cripple, daffodil, kindness.
Dishes washed, back rubbed, complaints heard. Love thrives
on everyday, run-of-the-mill kindness.
Middle School – Levi’s, painter’s pants, ruling
girls’ shark grins. Tube tops. Clearasil. Kindness
of heroes in dull books. Cancer kills. Guns.
Fire. What a dumb phrase – kill with kindness.
Paltrow sells candles that smell like her crotch.
Why can no perfumer distill kindness?
We’ll take a cup, drunk New Year’s revelers
warble. If their shaky hands spill, kindness,
unlike wine, doesn’t stain. Medicine can
calm or lift moods. There’s no pill for kindness.
Actors know, Funny doesn’t sag. After
looks and potency go, there’s still kindness.
The sick girl’s friends shave their heads. The vet sleeps
in the shaking pit’s cage until kindness
wins. In a dream, the poor and broken feast.
In rainbow letters on the bill: Kindness.
Slurs chalked on stone. The earth burning. Let the
hole in each grieving heart fill with kindness.