From the day I slid out the birthing canal
I started my life with a battle royale.
I slapped the nurse’s ass before she slapped mine.
Kicked my dad in the sack, three or four times.
Punched the doc in the face, and tripped his old ass.
Grabbed my mom’s purse and took all her cash.
And as I made my way out the hospital doors
I told the receptionist she smelled like a whore.
Dipped around the corner to the Starbucks bar.
Got drunk on latte and then stole a car.
Then I realized that the car was a pigs,
So I turned on the sirens and drove into a ditch.
I busted my head going through the windshield.
Woke up a minute later in a giant cornfield.
I screamed at the sun, cursing my luck,
When out jumped a Swat team from a black truck.
I tucked and I rolled and I sprung from the ground
With a Superman punch that knocked them all down.
Then I gave each one a shock from their taser
And wrote them all tickets for disorderly behavior.
Right about that time, I was about to leave,
But I spotted a platoon of weekend Marines,
A couple of tanks, and a black hawk chopper.
I squinted my eyes and spat out a hawker.
They were closing in, the battle was about to begin,
And it was then, that I realized something.
I sat up quick, and I was in my own bed.
This whole story is just a dream in my head.
© Christopher Allen Breidinger
Excerpt from the book “Poet Christopher’s
Scenes, Dreams, and Golden Schemes”
About the Author
Christopher Allen Breidinger is an American poet and author currently residing in Winter Haven, Florida with his wife and daughter. This is the third book in the Golden Trilogy Series. Be sure to also check out Scenes, Dreams, and Golden Schemes and Myths, Methods, and Golden Messages.
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