you can’t fight fire with fire

You Can’t Fight Fire with Fire

(written many moons ago …)

I’m in a
murderous mood,
parked up on
the hill.
Everything I
jars me.


punk kid
in a
daddy-bought car
pulls in
next to me.
He’s got his
deep-bass sounds
all the
way up.
gawking out
the windshield
with a
slack jaw.


I crank up
the volume
on my
radio &
roll down
my window.
Santana is
slamming out
Evil Ways.


But I
turn the
volume down &
roll the window
back up.
That’s no
way to
treat Santana.

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