POEM | FREE VERSE | WORK

Soapbox

On thinking you’re above the law

Wanna buy a gold watch? Created with Bing Image Generator.

Manipulation struts around
in a Men’s Wearhouse
suit and fake fedora,

strapped with the weight
of gold-plated watches
hanging from the inside lining
of a triple-x trench coat,
those teakettle lips
blowing two-fingered whistles.

I pull your taffy tongue,
swinging limp like a pendulum,
tasting the rancid
art of deflection
with the honor system
of vended newspapers,
a traitor to your
own soapbox.

You think you’re
some kind of superstar,
but I’m not in the market
for a used car.

Once the war had begun,
you kept taking them selfies
with the sun.

You wanted to gamble,
spitting in roulette’s
face when you should’ve
placed your chips
on double zero,