The kettle-drum thrum of my heartbeat
Sends a plea for assault not retreat
My fingers splay then contract
My soul cries out to react
My brain cautions this might mean defeat.
The red rose of rage colors my skin
My lips tighten from full into thin
My pop eyes narrow to slits
My placid stomach has fits
I breathe deep, try to gin up a grin.
This time, no grin, no bowing my head
This time, the fireworks flash instead
Caution succumbs to folly
I blast off with my volley
And depart with my ego well fed.
(Written for dVerse Poets, Meeting the Bar, Emotion in Poetry. April 3, 2014.)