A Good Day To Die

I’ve seen it myself sometimes. Shooting pool with a Marine I liked, a buddy. He’s drunk. Always had a booze problem and women had disappointed him, no more than any other man. Anyway, the only gal in the unit, honest, hard working, blonde comes into the room. We all wanted her I’d shown her my poems, which she’d taken a pass on. Joe starts teasing her about her tiny ****, touching them with his cue. She’s scared. So am I. Joe’s stronger, faster than me, by a lot, and when he’s drunk he knows no friend. How long can I stay silent, I calculate. What does he have to do before I speak. Speech, none. If I don’t put him down with the first crack of my cue, I’m done. Lucky for me she gets away unharmed, goes back to her room. I think Joe assumed me and the other guys, by our nervous smiles, would enjoy a rape tonight. Men are such chickens, I can’t speak for women. You basically hold your breath your whole life. Live in a zoo and screw. And if it comes to that, you’ll kill on orders, from who? Another swinging dick who fears his death. You’ve got to make every day a good day to die.