Scribblings

Prejudice

A tightened spring of a man

Sits at the bar.

The word "kiss" is

Tattooed across his knuckles.

I can't help but wonder,

Did he think of

Putting "Punch" Across his lips?

Of branding "Kick"

The length of his tongue?

Perhaps, he has needled an atomic mushroom cloud

Beneath his scrotum.

I envy his near-empty sunken packet of Lucky Strikes.

I lick the absence of a cigarette from my mouth.

I don't dare bum one from him,

In case he kisses me.