Your knuckles cracked
like thunderclaps
right before you swung
your massive fist
straight into my jaw.
At least that's how I
imagined it would go down
after I lunged at your
almost girlfriend's throat.

In reality, you just gripped my
arms very tightly, so tight I
had no chance of breaking free,
and spat in my face.

Well,
figuratively.

And by that time, I had lost
the will to fight anyway.

As you figuratively spat
each
angry
word,
the little harpy peaked through
the crook of your elbow,
her beetle black eyes
crawling with joy.
And though my finger nails
were digging into your arm,
her claws were digging even deeper
into your back.

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