It was rutting season
And the rams in the small Greek dance bar
had their heads down
I don’t know why he jumped me
and it doesn’t matter now
just like it didn’t matter then
men
do this shit sometimes
they call it a kickin’
and I was on the receiving end
the next night I was back again
there being no place else to go
and besides
I had a lady in tow
anyway
he wouldn’t know me
just another tourist
too blind drunk to notice him
sneaking up from behind
I had other things on my mind
Anna was divine
Swedish and nubile
I could make her smile no problem
we sat in the furthest, darkest corner
where it was easy keeping my head
and my voice
low
when it was time to go
she had to stop and chat to an old friend
‘John, this is Giorgio’
wouldn’t you just know – it would have to be him
Jumpin’ Jack Flash all vinegar and vim
I recognized immediately that he knew me
sometimes you’re where you just don’t want to be
I whispered to my lady could we go
But no
she wanted us to get to know each other
better
I just couldn’t get her to twig
I knew this pig
I said 'I know this bastard very well'
he heard the words – but not the alarm bells
he said “Hey! Yoo! Hey! Who-oo you call bass- taard?”
I smiled at him – then kicked him just as hard
as I could
in the town halls
he’d been standing like a bullfighter
legs wide apart and hands on hips
big boots, open shirt, hairy chest and hairy lips
like the pussy he was
and as he folded I laid him out
with a straight right
and it was goodnight for both us
the bouncers used me as football
till someone called “the cops!!”
and they left me alone
Anna and her girlfriend picked me up
and brought me home
where I reflected
how wrong it was for men to stoop so low
but how good it had felt
to stick my boot in his ego
and watch him melt
to see the look of shock and sheer surprise
in his heavy –lidded condescending eyes
revenge a sweet and satisfying dish
well worth the bruising and the bloody mess
I surely was
my cause , I knew
was just
some things you must
simply do
and screw the consequences
speaking of which
the story had a happy ending
for though my face and ribs and pride and clothes
all needed mending
who would have supposed -
both Anna and her friend did their best that night
to make sure that the loser of a just fight
got more than just a good nights sleep
such are the memories we will always
keep
Author notes
sometimes we wax lyrical about a sunset...
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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you, lil devil, you...
Hey, it's me again, trying to pester you and catch your attention
I was going over your page,
and found some poems I missed when I was in hibernation, LOL. and, well, just as you might expect, I found your BAD BEHAVIOUR...of course I will comment on this first, save the TOAST for later, hehe...
Ok, I have to agree with everybody...this went really smoothly. I can even hear your accents. hehe. You gave me a vivid scenario, esp. in the bar with all the cast, had a laugh, got me a bit excited as to what will happen next in the bar (y'know, he knocking you down or the other way around. LOL) and of course a clear picture of how bad you really are (talk about the ending..wooohoooo)
Truly loved this, John....(more! more! LOL)
here and there,
SillyThoughts
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Good boys don't get in trouble..
..but they don't get in trouble either! Smoochas Saucythoughts! xxx >W<
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hey windover
i don't know how this one got by me but its stupendous. not only the story but the structure the enjambment and the way each segway is so seamless. somethimes i think the best way to judge a poem is by how painless it was to read it. this went down real easy and smooth. you gotta send this out.
dave -
Telling a story...
You are telling a story , and you re having a memory and you are and you use poetry to do it.It is a kind pf poem I could never right(I am no capable)You use to be always soft and careful on your words.This is quite different from others I ve read from you.Quite singular one.
I like it anyway.And will recommend it.
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You Luuuuucky Bastard!
Echoing Lad below - another great storypoem, Windstomper!
The opening lines were pure Rambo and perfectly set the scene for displays of derring do.
Line 33 s "..all vinegar and vim" gave it us in a nutsack/shell.
I must say in all confidence that you do display distinct aspects of a belligerent tourist, my friend. Trading insults with ski-nazis and blows with oily Joses! Well I hope you pretended to be Scottish so you don t give the Irish a bad rep.
Nothing better than a sympathy shag after a pummeling is there? I once found myself on the receiving end of multiple fisticuffs (and Doc Martins) after flicking salad at some insolent meateaters, but though bruised and homeless there was no lack of Nightingales offering a warm bed and a hearty breakfast during the ensuing aftermath.
But why the hell didn t I think of allowing the charitable maidens to share in the mending of my injured pride what pride?!
Oh remind me not to stand spread-eagled with pelvis outwardly thrust, in front of you when I drunkenly cast dispersions on your manhood, John!
Cheers (he squeaked)
gonadsgonG
. Rewarded 4
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I'm a hooligan poet it seems
No point explaining the finer points of this..It seems I am damned a hooligan by own reminisce ..ences ..es . Anyway, who says it's true? Truth is, if we were all always as good as we aspire to be, the world and our lives would be pretty boring. Our (ahem) hero never went looking for trouble on either night. Honestly. he did learn not to turn his back on trouble and, for better or worse, failed to turn the other cheek. Until later on at least. (Sorry).
It was a most enjoyable affray with comeuppances got rightly and a pleasant twist in the tale. It could so easily have ended badly though. Nowadays I'd have got more than a kicking methinks. Anyway, I gather you enjoyed the story and if it gave it you a 'yesss!' - I couldn't ask for more. Cheers
PugGnacious
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and some sunsets are better than others.
JohnBird, you're a master at storypoems. The sense of timing, the pauses, the set-ups, the climaxes, and the denouements, not to mention the double-entendres - all woven into a piss of a good fight! And invading that hair-ball's "ego" and "town halls" just shows what a tender-hearted poet can do when his honor's at stake: the modern version of a duel, except he didn't have the pretty seconds you had!
A joy all the way. I have a feeling that your going back there a second time was more than just "nowhere else to go." A man's humiliation, after all, will burn inside until vengeance is served.
Good one - such good "bad behavior."
Lad
. Rewarded 4
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Fact or fiction?
Ay oop ther' lad ! Tha should kno' folk in't all tha think they be! Now what makes you think this little bird might be a fighter? Ha Ha! In fairness I was going to suggest you overstressed content here but you DID deal with the technicalities first. Thank you for your 'applause'. I know you like story poems and I like telling stories. I just always wonder about the lack of 'poetic thought' , metaphor etc. as I do with my rhyme poems. I suppose what I'm hoping for here is anything approaching a whoop for the underdog (he was much bigger than me! Ha Ha !) If that came across - I'm happy! You know I look for your comments first. And that's how they usually arrive. Thanks my friend. >W<
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