On Guard

Taking a backseat on
the left side of my brain.

Legs crossed, resting on top
of a young maiden on fours.

Plainly enjoying the view
of hostages held at gunpoint

that my mind has altered.

Completely resigned to values,
just facing the odds set by wheelers and jesus-makers.

A pull of the trigger then all this would end;

No more begging and pleading,
Curses spitting ugly on mouths,
and all nonsense talk of wanting to make a bargain.

Though I aim for handshakes and pleasantries,
A smile still means everything

Like seeing a clitoris with horizontal slits.

So let them beg while I shine my toy,
unload bullets in the dock.

My body is guilt-riddled
that wearing a vest is a must.