Joel Abel (2)

Editor back-issues, poetry

Fighting

we square off
just outside the bar

this all started when
he looked me dead in
the eyes and said:
“what the fuck are you
looking at, motherfucker?”

he outweighs me by fifty pounds
and stands six inches taller

I’m hopping up and down in place
and he’s still trying to get
his jacket off, while his
old lady is screaming at him
to kick my ass.

he is watching the swelling crowd
taking in all their bullshit
and believing it, when
he should be watching
me

I’m jumping out of my
skin
seeing everything
so clearly that the edges
of my vision
threaten to grate

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