Pissy Britches

Today at the bar
an idiot man
with the mind of a child
prophesied imminent doom
should the woman whom
he does not wish to succeed
assume the presidency
then his newborn child
will, as he said, “See
some serious shit,”
should the woman ascend
he said
to the land’s highest office
then he said
“We are fucked. We are fucked.
It’s all over, and we will see
some…” as aforementioned
“serious shit,”
under such a canopy of despair
lives a man
who drinks Bud light and shots
of Patron
a man who wears
a Metallica tee-shirt
and whose pregnant, again, wife
drinks pints of fruit juice on ice
all this pants-pissing fear
exists in a single man
a self-fancied tough-guy
a fighter, a fornicator, an impregnator
a bed-wetter
terrified of tomorrow, but partying
for today


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