poetry

forty winks

When in hell, you gotta do what a hellion does...

      No
  Tear
    Of my rage
        Fell so far
              As it did on the yard
                      Where you left me no card
                As to swing or get bell-rung.

          But, chalk it up, you were stung
        So fiercely you forgot
            Who I was, bro:
                  A nerd who hurt louder
          Than all your bully-buzz.
    When in hell,
  You gotta do what a hellion does:

    Go on and let go
        What Aunt Mildred taught ya.
  If a friend,
      I would’ve caught ya;
But a foe? You didn’t owe
      That red desert dirt
          A facelift, no…

        Unaware I was raked-bare,
    You were, then and there,
  Due a paradigm shift.
    Oh shit, the shame!
        You didn’t know
            I could throw my weight
          Like a ninja-swift.

      No study of the Gaiden
  Game or the manga or the
Fifth name you gargled
After I swung again;
  It’s still too lame,
      Though what framed it first
            Was Little Bo Peep.

          You’ve been counting
      The baa-baas since, poppy:
        I’m the ghost in every wink
                        Of your sleep.
                We’re a long leap now
          From the sloppy fist that kissed ya
        Into the middle of the street.

    But my honor is mine,
  As is the bleep
  You defined me by;
      Of the little
            I’ve wished ya,
                    You can keep
                                The sheep.


Previous Post:
    Poetry: Forty Winks
        https://windstrewn.com/2019/10/08/wild-things/


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