Duck and cover.
So much passive aggression, incoming,
steeped in your morning hello.
Curves in your body language malign and sear like barbed wire
beneath a surface of cool still water.
Gently, I’m under fire, taking flack from side-eye artillery.
No bayonets or grenades in sight;
simply a coffee cup clutched in a manicured hand.
I shiver in your shade.
Chin to the ground, pressed under the heavy fog of war,
an illusion of retreat, of victory, but
I’m pinned down.
You Tokyo Rose.
Smooth talker, whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
You, with the smile of an enemy, sounding so very much like a friend.
by D. Ryan Lafferty
DartanionPress.com
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