Face off
by Thomas Provençal
Pugnacious and proud,
belligerently loud,
standing out in the crowd,
there’s a man.
His odd attitude
both blatant and rude,
with language most crude
makes me pan.
I’m not of the sort
to put up with this sport;
without a retort
I stand up.
Determined at heart,
I face off with bad Bart,
my only weapon a fart.
We eye up.
I feel in the air
and the break in his stare,
he’s not ready to square
at this time.
Retaining his pride
and smiling wide,
he sets off with a glide
in decline.
