Sunday threatens with
its black candle sky,
a summer storm
merging with the
darkness in me.
Livid lightning bolts
flash from my eyes
striking, “Enough!”,
as I stare at your
smug expression.
Your hand on my arm
is not a request, but a command.
There’s not enough ice cream
in hell to tempt me to leave with you.
Whatever you think you have,
is nothing I want … You’re merely
a beer Romeo who thinks
every woman is eager
to be your plaything.
I didn’t walk in this bar alone.
Look over your shoulder.
Those women know a death star
when they see one.
All I have to say is one word, “rebel”, and they
will become the war you won’t win.
©Susie Clevenger 2023
