Fist fighting a burly stranger
over a flirty wench named Doris
whom we both wanted to take home
and get intimate with
Like two rams butting heads
to mate with the in heat bitch
who was getting off on the conflict
over her physical affection
as we rolled about brawling
on the sticky tavern floor
which reeked of spilt beer
and fragmented nut shells
It was a lengthy
perfectly choreographed fight scene
like you see in those old
black and white Western flicks
with John Wayne trading fists
against an anonymous character actor
who always got his ass kicked
by the top billed star in the end
In this action packed edition
it was my turn to play the Duke
as I hit my worthy adversary
whom I did not know
before this manly engagement
with such a perfect blow
I could feel his nasal bones crack
beneath my now very scraped
crimson flooded fist
He dropped in a heap
holding his destroyed face
as I staggered down the bar
to claim my feminine prize
for a night of natural fornication
Alas I was advised
by the pissed off proprietor
of this drinking hole establishment
that the object of my painful desire
had left the scene of the altercation
with a suave pacifist
tax accountant named Clyde
who drove a baby blue Ferrari
and promised my now absent love
an unlimited coke supply
I brought a dirty bar crying towel
wrapped with ice to be applied
to the proboscis
of my former adversary
to stem the red tide
Of course I bought my new friend
an adult beverage
as we dissected the cause
of our inglorious encounter
and mutually lamented
the utter futility
of intergender relationships
for damaged mutts like us
in the 21st Century
