Tonight's Poet Corner: Leslie Rage
Leslie Rage
by Belinda Roddie
The two men guzzled two pitchers,
each, and tried to fill their stomachs
with a liquid courage strong enough to
put fire behind their eyes. Instead, said
eyes would be ringed with black and blue
halos as Leslie Rage knocked down both
of them with her fists and a broken
pool cue from the nearest wall.
When the thugs were good and bruised,
bleating like sad sheep in a storm, Rage
asked for her own jug of ale, downing it
as if she were dehydrated from a long
bout at the boxing ring. Then, giggling
in between belches, she said, "So long,
boys. Until the next romp," adjusting
the collar of her jacket as she walked
out of the bar with silver glinting
from her dead father's leather boots.
by Belinda Roddie
The two men guzzled two pitchers,
each, and tried to fill their stomachs
with a liquid courage strong enough to
put fire behind their eyes. Instead, said
eyes would be ringed with black and blue
halos as Leslie Rage knocked down both
of them with her fists and a broken
pool cue from the nearest wall.
When the thugs were good and bruised,
bleating like sad sheep in a storm, Rage
asked for her own jug of ale, downing it
as if she were dehydrated from a long
bout at the boxing ring. Then, giggling
in between belches, she said, "So long,
boys. Until the next romp," adjusting
the collar of her jacket as she walked
out of the bar with silver glinting
from her dead father's leather boots.
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