don't point at me

I don't want people
to point at me, at my shoe
for instance, dragging
a ribbon
of toilet paper
down the street, or
at the wheel of my
car, where someone rolls
down their window
to shout. it's flat,
your tire is flat, or
gesturing to the dollop
of shaving cream
in my ear.
leave me alone
with the spinach in
my teeth, the drool
on my chin, the missed
buttons, or zipper
down. i'll get to it.
I know these things,
I wasn't born yesterday.
i'm not, despite what
you think, a circus clown.