Tonight's Poet Corner: You Didn't Stutter

You Didn't Stutter
by Belinda Roddie

You asked me if you had stuttered. If your tongue
had failed you once again in the execution
of your bubbling, fleeting pubescent wrath.
And I told you you didn't. That I had understood
every goddamn word that had drifted like shrapnel
from the fall-out. Every string of commentary
unraveling from its film reel as the movie puttered out
and faded to shivering gray. How dare I? Yes,
and how dare you attempt to use a fishing hook
to salvage my jaw. How dare you
refuse me a steak dinner and then act upset when I pay
my own way toward the meal. The gristle
in your stomach sits, while the feast digests
in mine. I'm not afraid of your judgment,
or your lack of kindness. The lack of it
should hurt you more. The unsettling of your life
should make me smile.