landlord guillotines  

i think i got my impulse towards
retribution from being raised catholic. 
i read dante's inferno in high school
for fun. drew circles of hell on my bedroom wall
& then swam in them. fire & ice & weeping. 
i keep seeing a post on instagram 
that reads, "it's not communist to care
about people." i am trying not to feel
despair about how far we have to go.  
i am not a guillotine kind of girl. 
in a renter's facebook group a landlord posts
whining about how no one wants to pay rent.
he says, "i have two empty rooms 
i'd rather give to stray animals." i try to sketch
his cruelty. a wad of wet socks in the corner
of a mcmansion. his empty lettuce bags
in a tall trash can. i am fascinated by 
the reasons other people have for being alive.
if it is not to love each other than why are 
you here? does this man want money?
does he want to feel powerful? does he feel
he was promised more than he receives?
i get my punishment brain involved.
i dream of a land of doors where landlords 
have to walk. it is cold or it is raining. no door
will open for them. they will want to sleep
but never feel that release. an endless hunger 
for a place to rest. sometimes when they 
quiet their own breath, they will hear 
a laugh behind a door. the wood will 
feel warm but they will not reach it. a storm will
open up & they will be drenched to the bone. 
i have been keeping a folder of screenshots
of horrible things i have seen people say online.
i do not know what i intend to do with it.
maybe i am compiling evidence 
for the angels or else it is for myself. evidence of what?
i type out a dozen responses to the landlord's post
& don't send any of them. he is hiding behind
a blank profile. i imagine him just as 
fist in the dark. his future rain, coming.