You Talking To Me?

A proper little gangster glared,
Ferociously at first,
At anyone who stopped and stared
And dared to do their worst...
Then confrontation reared its head,
Hell-bent upon a fight,
As if he had no sense of dread
And in it took delight...

So he asked, 'You talking to me?
There's no-one else around! '
He glared with utmost emnity,
As if meant to astound...
Yet there he was, a simple soul,
No muscles and no brawn,
Just beady eyes as black as coal
And smirking full of scorn...

I looked at him and laughed out loud!
I sniggered to his face!
To see him all puffed up and proud,
As if he owned the place!
I left him there, unharmed, unhurt,
Still thinking he looked cool...
In truth, he was a harmless squirt,
A poor deluded fool...

Denis Martindale, copyright, April 2011.

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'You Talking To Me? '.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:

by Denis Martindale

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