Tonight's Poet Corner: Yikes
Yikes
by Belinda Roddie
A guaranteed way to give me
the "Yikes" syndrome - the shoulder
squeezing cringe, the ripple of unwelcome
goosebumps, and the slight veinous twitch
in the lower region of my left eye -
is to walk to my table when I am
holding hands with my girlfriend
and ask me, "Hey, man,
do you lease that babe out?"
And I swear, once I'm over the
"Yikes" syndrome, I launch straight
into the "Die" zone, no parachute,
and waste a perfectly good glass
of cider on your pseudo-designer
shirt (and stick a few pieces of glass
into your ribcage as well).
by Belinda Roddie
A guaranteed way to give me
the "Yikes" syndrome - the shoulder
squeezing cringe, the ripple of unwelcome
goosebumps, and the slight veinous twitch
in the lower region of my left eye -
is to walk to my table when I am
holding hands with my girlfriend
and ask me, "Hey, man,
do you lease that babe out?"
And I swear, once I'm over the
"Yikes" syndrome, I launch straight
into the "Die" zone, no parachute,
and waste a perfectly good glass
of cider on your pseudo-designer
shirt (and stick a few pieces of glass
into your ribcage as well).
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