Scribbles

One radical statement launched their conversation.
A political misunderstanding was the unknowing ally.
Their spittled goading hidden lightly behind sarcasm.
Muscles tightened after reason left long ago in a Robin Reliant,
A fitting vehicle to convey the amount they shared.

The problem simple.
A balsawood baseball bat beating cement.
Suggested scenarios played out on an imagination,
Lazily swinging through bruised pride.
Mountains out of molehills suggests the construction of hate,
The best holy mess,
Provoked and stewed out of life’s disappointments,
Then promoted as a good time girl on a whores drawers.

Martin thought that he knew, he was certain he knew.
He swore his feelings did not matter.
Embarrassed first by his showing.
Then angered by his embarrassment.
He eagerly attacked fortified by his wine supports,
Destined so obviously to suffer a cool headed welcome.

It came quiet in reply to his white knuckled impatience.
Slyly deceiving, ticking, calculating and turning away.
Perfect punctuation pressured not denying,
But slipping, avoiding and deploying.
A sharp vocabulary preached with intent.
Vanguard the hypocritical distraction.

The dry throated sting in the tail came.
Faltering, hesitating while reminiscing on now false feelings.
He bounced and bobbed did Billy the betrayer,
Relying on his quick tongue.
Tonguing your talk while juggling razor blades he thought.
First the sigh came and Billy grasped the guilt.

Martin surrendered hands trembling.
Fingers playing an imaginary tune.
Sobbed explanations and apologies,
Background: Billy’s internal victory smile.
The emotional request was timetabled next,
Portraying the last rites of Martin’s respect.
Billy timed it’ one long lung-full of pain.
“I should never suspect a friend”.