Stop and Frisk
“Are you a biker?” my boss
asked. This was not the first
time he had, though my
answer never changed. It wasn’t
an issue until the Christmas
party, when he whipped out
a chain, threw the first punch,
expected me to join in. Well,
it wasn’t like I had a choice
at that point, and when you
discuss the wisdom
of your actions with Jagermeister,
you should prepare
for the inevitable consequences.
Things went okay, though,
and three minutes later it was
just my boss and some guy
in a Carhartt jacket head to head
and I couldn’t tell which one
repeated “you may be entitled
to financial compensation”
each time a blow landed.
© Robert Beveridge
Robert Beveridge (he/him) makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry on unceded Mingo land (Akron, OH). He published his first poem in a non-vanity/non-school publication in November 1988, and it’s been all downhill since. Recent/upcoming appearances in We Are the Weirdos, Bitter Melon, and Rough Diamond, among others.
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