Thug Poet

I deal with all manner of society. I say that not to curry pity nor have you question the life choices I have made.

I state that as a solid fact.

When people, normal, nice, recently bathed people arrive within my proximity you rarely hear me speak of them. Oh, they exist, it’s just that they are unremarkable for my uses. I enjoy them immensely yet they do not fit within the confines of the type of human I so often mention.

Good thing there’s no lack of assholes then, huh?

A brutish man bursts into the building. All bravado and bluster. He starts dictating the how’s and why’s of our transaction.

I counter with the rules and regulations of not only the company I work for but also the laws of the Commonwealth and the United States which would look unkindly upon his desires.

I quickly surmise that, due to his countenance (steely), adiposity (grand), and stature (imposing) he assumes I’ll wither in his company.

But I stand resolute. I am not swayed by the height (eight or so inches above mine) or weight (150 plus pounds over mine) differential. I am also not induced by his elocution. As a matter of fact, inside my head all that is being volleyed about is the line,

“I’m being menaced by a poet.”

Albeit a poet of the modern day. Meaning his iambic pentameter was born of the street not the drawing room.

As he pulls out all his maneuvers (or, in the vernacular: busts a move) he must get a sense I’m not swayed by his oration. So he leans in, his girth casting a shadow over me.

I do not allow this attempt at coercion to reign o’er me. While leaning in he continues his philippic prattle. I take this time to, once again, think,

“I’m being menaced by a poet.”

Before leaning into him and, in my first ever rap battle, poetry slam, confabulation contest or whatever it is called by the youth of today, I respond to him with,

“You may think you got over
but that’s your surprise.
You see me as smaller
but that’s a disguise.
My balls are so big they
leave dimples on my thighs.”

We stood there for a few beats, silently. I’m looking at him. He’s looking at me. It’s his move.

He moves on.


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