Mark Springer Poet Rhyme

Don't get mad, get even

War had proved granddad tough.
He told me never to bluff.
He said that living well is the best retribution
And a temper was rarely a solution.

But he said something else too
If there's no choice but action, here's what to do
Don't show your hand, even if your seethin'
Don't get mad, just get even.

My brother and I went to a Jersey town in our guide
Indians signed a treaty there under the oak tree big and wide
We started walking down a street, a teen looked mean and rough
I was afraid, so I forgot I must not bluff.

He asked me what we wanted, I later found people come for meth
But I was quaking in my shoes, afraid of pain or death.
So I said to my brother "Don't hit him!" hoping that would scare
The dude looked amused, blew a whistle in the air.

Three other guys appeared, coming from the hood.
One punched my brother in the head, but my brother stood
He had turned his head to see, that protected from the blow
The drug gang let us leave, but I had to eat crow.

My brother didn't get mad at me, but I was grievin'
Because he told the family, equivalent to getting even.
I was embarrassed, my reputation beyond retrievin'
I had tried to bluff a bad guy, with an act he won't believe in.

I saw that Jersey street in dreams for quite a while
That amused whistle and that mocking smile
I guess this is a story I should be concealing
My brother's bruise healed, but I can't repair the feeling.

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