Connections
Stressed?
Me, stressed?
Yes, you, mister!
Are you winning?
Not, but I survive.
A half wit then. What next?
A prose poem, of course.
There was this old lady teacher suddenly turned feisty,
and she stopped her car, got out, walked up to me screaming at me as if I were a rabid dog… ‘THIS IS A SCHOOL! THIS IS A SCHOOL! THIS IS A SCHOOL!” so to stop it I became rabid dog and returned volley to which she took offense and pressed harder so I pressed back and was ready to strike her with my rod, or my staff, I don’t recall, but rather I slowly, ever so slowly, put them away, well hidden, mind you, and proceeded to counter her yelping by lifting my bad leg and by Jim she took still greater offense and in a blinky winky she was back with a fucking gold phone, or so it appeared to be, and it was pointing at me, so I acted like a special needs monkey and the police came (cause I screamed, CALL THE COPS!) but they left.
Thankfully, the woman was more tired than I was so she disappeared and I jabbered on for about a minute, getting the dog out of my mouth.
