what vain serpent?

after so much good will––
hurt is inflicted––

how hard we work
to serve the world
with heaven in our hearts––

why can we not love––
or at least respect
one another
as equals––

for we are surely
equals in dust

one woman finds
delusional aristocracy
reflected in her nervous face
on the surface of the ladies room
glass

she worries

she is one of all of us
vexed by desire

why does the she/we need need need
such props & circumstance
to soothe
her anguished/wounded id?

what vain serpent in her/our brain
belches out the scalding chemistry
of anger in her blood?

how/why/what inside her
triggers the electricity
of harm?