The intention of this poem was not to be "good." It's a freewriting exercise from my poetry course. The professor would read a random line from a poem, and we would react. As we were righting, he'd randomly select another line and it would have to move our poem along.
down in the alley
he saw what you did
despicable
degrading
dirty
and the look in his eyes alone
was worth the price of admission to you
and as the other finished reaping the bounty
of forbidden fruit
he burned like a roman candle
superhot behind a trash bin. then,
like some horrible dream come true
he produced a box cutter
from inside his sock and
stalked forward, irate and rambling,
his spittle staining the back of your neck as he
approached.
the joy in your revenge
faded like twilight in November
you didn't remember pain
but you remembered cold
and later, wet
the movies are wrong about stabbings
the real pain comes later with infection
and even after infection subsides
the pain is going nowhere
fast.
