The poet imagines the time
when she stands at a podium,
surveying a sea of people before her,
evaluating what will be her 
largest audience ever, to be sure.
Her words will be broadcast,
printed,
quoted by others
for all time to come.
History is hers to tell.

She thinks about what she would say 
to the adoring throngs.
This is a once-in-a-lifetime 
(or maybe a few times in her lifetime) 
opportunity.
And she comes to a realization...
...it's payback time!

Payback to all those
who mistreated,
misguided,
misused,
and misjudged.
Payback in no particular order.

To funders who randomly determined 
that my art wasn't worthy of their support.

To curators who told me 
that my poetry wasn't up to their standards.

To bosses who hired me 
for my creativity and ideology
and then stomped on my individuality.

To co-workers who've backstabbed me.

To that woman who hired me 
to do some freelance work for her
and then decided not to pay me 
so I had to take her to small
claims court and win the case 
and even then she wouldn't pay, so 
I still haven't gotten my goddamned money.

To friends who aren't friends anymore.

To Mitchell.  Hi Mitchell. 
You were a big jerk
and now the whole world knows it.

To all of the aforementioned 
and to those who are too
insignificant to recall.
Look at me.
Look where I am.
Look where you're not.
And I see you all
from this vantage point
and feel everything I thought I'd feel.
Supreme.  
    Courageous.  
           Empowered. 
Better than you.
But then I've always felt that.
I've just been waiting patiently
for payback time.