The Persistence Of Rage

Tech guy,
last week
I was incensed
during our cue to cue
by your backhanded way
of calling me
and my fellow cast mates
idiots
unreal in and of itself
doubly so given your
ineptitude, your pretension
and unconscious fatuousness.
The comment made me angry
but I vented frustration
through the inflection of my lines
I did not lash out or walk away
although my nerves were screaming
for retaliation.
I tried to keep my distance,
detach and let go,
only mildly successful
I stewed the remainder of the evening
unable to shake the desire for some just desserts.

Last night
reenergized and hopeful
determined to avoid you
the show went better than ever
and after
while mopping the stage
I smiled to myself, satisfied and contented
this feeling, fleeting
was soon disseminated
by you
Tech guy
who waddled onto the 1/10 of the stage
still left to clean
and like some
insufferable boarding school upperclassman
began to point down at the four by four square
of unmopped stage you were standing in
saying "There's a spot, there, there, there."
and oh the flood gates opened.
And hot rage, like liquid fire, almost drowned me.
My body began to hum and quiver like a boiler- pressure building.
But I leveraged my will and stood there waiting for you to move.
You did not. Only kept pointing out the same spots
as if you were a schoolmarm and I some witless child.
I barked out the only thing I could "I'm. Not. Done. Yet."
And thankfully
for your sake as well as mine
you finally walked away.

My temper, once a defining trait, I thought left behind
still plagues me from time to time.
And although not as vicious or volatile as it once was
it still lingers, requiring diligence and care.
For wrath is good for nothing save destruction,
an acidic conflagration of pride, aggression, and fear.