Go The F*  Away

I’ve shopped and spent money, it’s time to leave
But I will stay inside Trader Joe’s.
You want me to sign something, I believe
Must I wait here ‘til they close?
Please go the f* away.

I needed more groceries and dry goods,
another shopping expedition
Now stuck here in Safeway because of you do-gooder hoods
Trapped until I read your petition.
O, pen-toting children, go the f* away.

Like vultures you sweep in with your cause du jour
Wave that damn paper with glee
I do care about solar power, I’m sure
But you will bring sunshine to me
If you just go the f* away.

If there’s anything I loathe more than initiative season
It just doesn’t come to mind today
Gimme that pen, bend over, just give me a reason,
If you won’t go the f* away.

Do I have a minute to save the planet?
You Greenpeace gremlins say
No, but I have plenty of time to scream, “Leave me alone, dammit,”
Won’t you please go the f* away.

Houseless rights and homeless sleeping bans,
I don’t really care where y’all lay,
But those handouts you shove in my hand?
You’ll be laid out for good if you don’t go the f* away

With a million more names, we can legalize pot!
You insist as I offer breath spray.
Criminy! Have you showered this decade or not?
Never mind, run along, and please go the f* away

Those smart-meter freaks want me to sign this ‘n’ that
So my mind will not suffer radioactive decay
Guess what? My brain waves are already flat–
too many drugs—adios, go the f* away.

End the fight, bring home the troops
Be they breeders, transvestites or gay
I agree with you anti-war groups
But I’ll start my own war if you don’t go the f* away.

I’ve run out of ways to say it—
wees zo goed, por favor, s’il vous plait—
There’s no other way to convey it:
Just puh-leaze go the f* away.

Santa Cruz-based exotic dancer July St. James (a pseudonym), frequently writes for the Economist, Atlantic Monthly and the New Yorker. Sadly, those talentless hosebags have yet to publish any of her works.