A new poem inspired by an overheard conversation.
The Main Event
The man standing behind me in Target tells his buddy
his workplace is creating a fight club.
And I wonder if hands will be thrown in the name of
middle management and manhood
or if the employees will simply be arguing back and forth,
pointing fingers like political parties stressing
just how wrong
the other one is.
I recently read about a man dying immediately after
entering a taco-eating contest.
The coroner officially listed choking as the cause of death,
but what are the odds the autopsy would also show
ego and competition are
kindred spirits?
I understand the dynamics of blowing off steam.
I’ve studied how the mouth forms a shape just small enough
to free the air from the toxic body,
but large enough to…
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