He took umbrage, took offense,
he was quite offended, vexed even—
puckish peevish pissed—
aggravated
irritated
frosted yes frosted
in a cold rage
in a snit, a fit, in-
dignant
in short, he’d got a good mad on
made a mountain out of a molehill
made a federal case out of it—
he was on a roll all right
he flew off the handle
popped his cork
flipped his lid—
hopping mad
mad as a wet hen
a mad Hatter
mad as a hornet
boiling mad, ranting and raving
all worked up all het up
RAGE page 2
puffed up
steamed up
ticked off
hot under the collar
he got his dander up
his nose out of joint
bent out of shape, sore, really sore
out of sorts
contorted with rage
he was blind with rage snow blind sand blind
he couldn’t see the woods for the trees
couldn’t see the nose in front of his face
couldn’t tell why they were waving at him
couldn’t tell if they were beckoning him closer
to signal an attack
couldn’t tell if they wave waving the flag of truce
to put an end to hateful rage
Roseann Lloyd has published four collections of her poetry as well as nonfiction.
