I will wear
my boots
that were made
for combat
my camo pants
and my camo shirt
a slouch hat
like the soldiery
with a feather
on one side
fortify myself
with a strong shot
of coffee
a shot of milk
I am a bad-ass man
(I tell myself)
ready again
to do battle
~
he fires a shot
down low
his gun
a guttural grunter
he sets his traps
snares
and stakes
await the unwary stumble
haaarrrreeeggghhh
haaarrrreeeuuuggghhh
he fires a dead breath
in my direction
haaarrrreeeggghhh
haaarrrreeeuuuggghhh
I see it coming
step aside
haaarrrreeeggghhh
haaarrrreeeuuuggghhh
it’s a battle
but I think
I might be winning
haaarrrreeeggghhh
haaarrrreeeuuuggghhh
his aim
is striking every damned hiding place
but mine
~
there are stertors
in the minefield
there are stertors
chasing me
through the air
he’s trying to take down
every movement
every target
his aim
may be a little
erratic
but it’s finding
ever damned hiding place
but not mine
not mine
© Frank Prem, 2017
Poem #18: a basket for his lady
Somehow I think you’re too compassionate to be a badass😄
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All depends on who you’re dealing with. Where you sit changes what you see, no?
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Indeed
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