Power

My vote
is a Molotov cocktail
thrown at your sneering,
sweaty face.
How dare you;
like you are entitled
to my trust.
This flaming liquid,
these glass knives
jab your throat.
They are all
you are entitled to,
motherfucker.
Yell then, won't you.
Maybe someone
will cover your mouth,
too,
when you scream.