the slamming mood

today i come home
open all the kitchen cupboards
and slam them in rapid succession
just to hear the satisfying clap!
of board-on-board.

it is true i would prefer to launch plates
like discs and vases like shot-puts
too see if i had the strength
to dent a plaster wall, to rip out the chicken wire
holding the insulation, the strength
to chip the stain from the oak accents and reduce
the brick to a shivering powder.

i would leave devastation and cement my position
as someone not to be fucked with.

of course, i would have to clean it up. i would
have to pay, to be sentenced some form of atonement--
fifty lashes or five days in the cilice--so
instead i slam the cupboard doors closed a second time, listening
for the crash inside.