rope

he asked me,
the smartass little prick,
when I thought that
I might stop swingin' at pitches;
and I looked at him,
dead in the eye,
and said:
"when you're dead,"
and he let out a big laugh,
damned near big enough
to split himself in half,
and that's when I shot him.

never brandish scissors
in front of someone
who is at the end
of their rope.



November 6, 2009, from the forthcoming collection, Spoken Rage.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.