Some people are so ungrateful

My mate assures us he’s “not gay”,
but he certainly gets a kick
out of watching two jocks feisty-
lovemaking at the rim of a ring
on the pay-per-month idiot box

He mocks me cause I tithe and—
metaphorically—drink Jesus’ blood
But doesn’t mind tuning into the Dark
Web to watch live cannibals eat din-dins

He just got a “red room” invite to boot!
Not that boot will necessarily be the way
this week’s victims adieus our world

The guy’s never even roughed it,
incubated like a silkworm in a dollhouse
too privileged to realise it’s a black mirror

Some people are so ungrateful

I know I am not worthy of God.
To feel this cold metal of the bus stop
is plenty privilege for me;

on the other side of an invisible road,
the grinding thumps of a stranger I
can’t mark out from night’s indigo;

the man-made lights simulating a ribbon
of synthetic stars indicating a sky line;

the inhale of frost, diesel, dying rubber;
sadistic sting of a mozzie on my wrist

All bless-gift enough simply
not to be in the game of kill or die:

comfortably lost in space…

Then I hop on the bus and cry
cause humans stink up close.
Why did I have to leave such
timeless divine emptiness?

Some people are so ungrateful