HOW THE CONVERSATION ENDS
he thinks he's tough, a real self-taught poet of the streets
he wants some feedback & possibly advice on his work
after the fourth poem about just how tough he is, i ask him:
did you ever see someone w/a tumor inside their face?
no, he uncomfortably laughs
you never saw somebody w/a large mass in the maxillary cavity?
i mean the real aggressive shit that keeps growing
until it pushes their eyeballs half-out of their head?
no, man, he says, serious now
you never saw somebody hemorrhage from their eye socket,
blood streaming down like they're weeping blood?
his face scrunches up in disgust & he grabs his poems back
yr fucked up, he says & walks away
you look sick! he says
you need to eat MEAT!
be a MAN! he says
have some of these
raw sausages! he says
live a little! he decides
to add to his ridiculous tirade
i look at his gut
the notches of his belt
all i can do
is picture his liver
fat & yellow
i want to rip it out
& nail it to his chest
an oversized badge
of fucking stupidity
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