NaPoWriMo XX

I’m hell-bent on causin’ a ruckus, yessir. I’ve got all the implements, motivation too. Now all that’s left is the sweet smell of havoc.

Now you must be askin’ yourself: “Why does this dude keep talkin’ the talk without so much as a step in the demolition direction?”

Stop that thinkin’ right there, friend. You think I’m chicken? I’ve been bustin’ shit since you were in the womb, don’t give me that grief.

In fact, I don’t know why you even bothered to open your mouth and dispute me. You are some piece of work, you know that?

Of course you do.

Now, while we’re young, why don’t you run over to the corner store and grab me a bottle of Jack.

Don’t give me any of that lip. Jack helps me think. It’s a doin’ man’s drink. You wouldn’t understand that, sweetheart.

You don’t mind if I call you sweetheart, do ya, darlin’?

Didn’t think so.

Author: Aidan Badinger

Wharved.com I am a poet. I write poems. Titles and subjects and subsequent readership are all part of one fragmented figment of our universe, and it's nice that we take it so seriously. Hopefully the craft remains and grows stronger for our children. View all posts by Aidan Badinger