Life

Life…she backs up, slouches down into a slight hunch – just enough to gather up the hem of her dress from brushing the floor – so she can square up, lean back into her stride & field goal punt you dead center in the crease of your scrotum and she dares you to flinch.

She’s trained especially for this day: jumping rope with you last nerve, shot putting with your peace, & running the distance with your patience.  She’s the proverbial decathlete & these, these are the deadly games.

You meet her with indifference & she ups you yet another emotional hijacking, with sentiment so intense you become numb & further distance yourself from the courage it takes to gather yourself from your disheveled heap to stand upright.  You greet her with aggression & she beats & sodomizes you behind a dumpster, names your bruises & then wipes your tears to further the emasculation.

She’s a life sized sour patch kid with crochet braids, a fanny pack filled with dry cheerios & koolaid powder, a pension for catch 22’s & has nothing but time on her hands which she will use to kick your ass.  So, she rears back & kicks you swiftly, then dares you to grimace; tells you to plaster on a smile so gahdamn wide that your cheeks slap the outside of your eyeballs & the corners of your mouth rip. 

She’s a dojo built bitch, who was bred somewhere in a dank basement under some tutelage that would make Evelyn Salt’s POW interrogation look like light S & M.  She’s God’s daughter & Satan’s mistress. & if for one minute you thought you could get away with it, you would slap the taste completely out of her mouth, smearing her lip stick in the process.

Your trash & your treasure – at times you can’t bear her, but trust you couldn’t bear to be without her.  So, I implore you, the next time you dig your palms into the gravel & shift to lift your shoulders only to drag your bloodied face up like a crimson sunrise – check for her.  Push up off the ground just as you see her hem being adjusted, & before she can rev up her turbo hemi – gauge, & then kick her head clean off her shoulders.  A.  She can handle it. & B. She’d do the same to you.

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