Saturday, September 10, 2011


This blond hellion
walks up to me,
shakes her fist at me,
and accuses me of the most
horrendous atrocities.

I catch the A bus
to the first atrocity,
and discover it's only
a long dead poet
with his nose in a twist,
having missed his last
two dead lines.

We go out for beer
and reminisce about hellions
and missed dead lines.

The hellion shows up
and accuses the dead poet
of adultery.

With a shake of her fist,
she leaves us to our beer
and takes the bartender
to the back room
for some show and tell.

I have a hot dog with relish.
Dead poet passed on the hot dog
and had another beer.

Bartender came back,
from the back,
looking beat, but with a smile.

We don't know where
the hell the hellion went,
but she paid for our beer.