Free Will Up to a Point

I don’t want to smell your smoke,
Listen to your cell phone conversation,
Watch you beat your kid,
Or scream at a passer-by.
I don’t want to hear about your shitty life,
Or the assholes you hang with,
Or about your drinking habit.
I don’t want to hear about
Your work complaints,
Nor your money problems,
Nor about the crappy hand
You were dealt,
Or how bad your parents were.
I don’t want to respond
To your manipulative behaviors,
Nor your naive politico/religious biases
And beliefs
That you mouth like a puppet of your tribe.
I don’t want to hear about the ghosts
That you expect to chase you
Into some dark alley
For the bad things
You say you have done in your life.
Wait a minute… what?
You do love me?
Forget what I just said.
I want to see your drawings
And your underwear,
And watch you dance,
And listen to your prejudices
And massage your feet.