[The twenty-seventh installment of the month-long poetry sequence that began on October 1st.]
"Showstopper"
Virgil Antonelli
The wait is over; I step into the street like a gunslinger at high noon.
"Hold it right there!" I command. "This is gonna end right now."
My pointing rifle conveys more authority than my faltering voice.
It's damned hard trying to function with a broken heart.
Kendra was my girl, my everything every single day,
Showing me all the love and loyalty I'd never known elsewhere.
And then that monster snatched her away, snapping her neck,
Leaving her lying in a tawny, fly-summoning heap.
"That abomination don't deserve to draw one more breath,"
I announce as I stalk forward, intent on a dead-on assassination.
But Len Saunders' Louisville Slugger is anything but sluggish,
Easily batting aside the trembling barrel of my firearm.
Then the momentarily-frozen crowd surges, toppling me;
Flailing fists and stomping feet knock me into a fetal position.
Even while crying out, I inwardly curse my own folly:
Presuming to steal the spotlight from the ensemble,
Fancying I could stand center-stage in tonight's revenge play,
Never realizing I'd just end up serving as the warm-up act.
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