Why, aren’t you a haughty bitch
In a nasty mood?

Slinging words like razor blades,

Tearing down simple beauty 
Because you have failed,

In your desire for a life free of effort.

For you, never work or even hope,
In the face of mere disappointment.

Sit there then and rue the Spring. 
Hate the winter and snow it brings. 
Despise autumn as though it is droll
With its feast of colors and breezy relief. 

Of course, loathe summer. 
Still and sweat drenched, soporific. 

Petulant though poetic, 
Cut it all to the bone, 
Because you cannot lift a finger 
In the pursuit of beauty and happiness, 

But must have it served to you just so, 
With the table set properly, 
And all backs straight, 
Eyes on you, 

Waiting to see you lift your spoon 
And take a cautious bite
A nascent scowl forming 
Before a morsel is on your tongue.