Rhetoric

Y’ever smelt a drunk?
He smells angry.

Red eyes,
foul breath,
liquor stains on the shirt.

You don’t speak to him,
you speak at him,
and he can’t talk back,
don’t know how.

I’m like that man,
but though I may not got good words,
if you talk to me,
I can speak,
in a way you’ll understand,
‘cause with my fists,
I’m articulate.