drag race

in this friendly competition
we’ve been having,
where we both try
to challenge ourselves to do
more, faster, better – to see
who can skate closer
to the edge of saying
what we really want to say
to each other, face to face,
but neither of us dares – so far
you seem to think you’re
winning.

in terms of quantity
you’ve got me beat, but
you had a head start. you
were competing with yourself
before I even knew it was
a race. I missed
the starting gun.

you’ve got your narrators,
your objects of desire, your
conflicts, your many
subjects, and your detachment.
I’ve got my wounds, my madness,
my white-knuckle determination
and my sharp-edged words.

it’s not nearly time to quit;
we’ve only started. we’ll see
who chickens out when we’re
gunning full speed towards
each other in our souped-up
muscle cars. I’m betting on
your distraction when you see
the hot chick in the short skirt
and high heels at the finish line.
in fact, I’m counting on it.
bring it on!

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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