I wonder what he’s thinking…

the thoughts that pass through his head.

He’s always looking into space, contemplating

Sometimes, he’s totally content

like a fat buddha, with a shirt

two-sizes, too big

draped over his big belly

like a wrinkled bed sheet.

The Pink, bald-headed man

rushes

to help him, deal with his rage.

The idiot isn’t always happy

That, surprised me.

I observed him,

pushing grocery carts

across the parking lot.

One day,

his neck was twitching

“F, Ass, Shit…” It was like a Tourette’s explosion.

I thought, if he had a sharp object in his hand

he might murder

the bald-headed man.

The manager came running

I think he’s a nice man

He was wearing a pink dress-shirt

with black-rimmed glasses

“What’s wrong?” He said.

The idiot grumbled, like a mountain

getting ready to erupt

He’s 6 feet, 4 inches tall

He plays with rabbits when he goes home,

but he has to get new ones each month.

I have often wondered what it would be like to be an idiot.

There would be no expectations

of me

People would treat me

well, and horribly.

Managers would go out of their way

to help me.

They would give me lollipops, and pat me on the head.

The eugenicists would want to castrate me,

but there are laws against that now.

I would not be a threat to anybody, except

the 18-year-old blonds

who wear nothing but shorts and bras in the summertime sun.

Oh—it would be grand to be stupid,

but I’m cursed with a brain

that wants to gain

the whole world

even if I lose my soul.

Can someone

less intelligent

choose?

I mean,

It’s the power to choose right or wrong

that determines morality, right?

Without that power

of choice

we are all like God’s children.

How many people actually want that responsibility

to make all of their own choices?

I know that I do,

 but I don’t know

if you do. Oh—the anxiety.