Raging Bull by David Boski

After my girlfriend stormed off
in the middle of another heated
argument I regrouped and turned
towards my friends, when suddenly
out the side of my peripheral I saw
a presence moving quickly towards
me.

Just then as I started to turn and
face the circular silhouette coming at
me in the dark bar a giant loogie
smacked me in my left eye, and I
instinctively put my hands up to defend
myself as I felt somebody begin hitting
me in the face.

As soon as I grabbed the individual by
the back of the head with my left hand,
and cocked back my right fist ready to
throw a haymaker, my blurred vision came
back just in time to realize who had spit on
me and was now attacking me in the middle
of the packed bar—it was my girlfriend’s sister;
all 250lbs of her raging bull-dyke, and as my
drunken, wasted brain, momentarily processed
this information I dropped my hands, lost my
balance, and she came crashing down on top of
my clumsy, skinny body, crushing it beneath her
heft, before my friends pulled her off of me.

Even the world’s greatest matador would’ve had
trouble that night—and I am not a bullfighter nor
have I ever been a fan of the “sport” Mr. Hemingway.

David Boski lives in Toronto. His poems have appeared in: The Rye Whiskey Review, The Dope Fiend Daily, Horror Sleaze Trash, Under The Bleachers, Down in the Dirt, Beatnik Cowboy, Winamop, Ramingo’s Porch, Cactifur, North Of Oxford and elsewhere. His chapbook “Fist Fighting and Fornication” is out now and available through Holy&intoxicated Publications.