When that jock kid stopped my car and yelled at me and told me that he was a state representative's son, I tried to stare at him like he was the son of a corrupt cocaine addicted exlawyer with a fascination for business interests and 52 disgruntled exwives, plus a murderously lousy tipper besides. It is a hard face to make, but I managed it well, and sent that Wheaties-faced rat back into the bushes.

"Don't mess with the Left," I hissed.

Jerks like that make voting Democrat occasionally satisfying.

Newspoetry at Spineless Books