Tonight's Poet Corner: After the Break

After the Break
by Belinda Roddie

It was when the cameras took their naps
and I retired to the back room for a snack -
something light and not so sinful, a platter
of distractions - that the next interviewee,
all star-studded and accolade-burdened,
approached me and clapped a meaty hand
across my less meaty shoulder. "Hey,"

he said, "I'm proud of you." And when
I asked him why, he replied, "you've got
a gut stronger than titanium, and the host
knew it. He wanted to see you crumble.
Instead, you made him stutter."

I had gone onto the show to make a point,
though my sword was duller than blunt.
Still, apparently the minor scratch I had
left behind, though insignificant at surface
level, was enough for the audience to
notice. And they saw that the man who
tried to hate me, who tried to break
my agenda like glass, was not immortal.
And that he could get hurt. And that
he could bleed.