Poem Part One

There once was a poem
Yes given life
By a goodly creator
Who couldn't give to it
What it needed yes
And it caused the verse
So much stress
That it took sick
And called his maker a dick

 Now the poet himself
Wasn't a dick at all
But Poem was a special rhyme
And demanded more
Than his poet could give to him
And this he could not bear

 So Poem called out
To the wider world
And  asked for help
Because he'd be damned
If he'd stay with the poet
Who couldn't give him
Any of what he needed 
To be a happy and healthy rhyme

 And that's where I come in. I'm Johnny Haskers-Crenshaw and I do unusual things and I've never done as unusual thing as rescue a sentient poem called Poem.

 If his poet is smart, he won't get in my way and try to hold onto Poem, not that I can blame him because if I was anything as sad as a poet, who'd just written a poem that had come to life, I'd want to keep him with me too.

 But I'm not one to be fucked with at 6 ft 2 and 217 pounds of muscle.

 This poet is in for a world of hurt if he tries to deny me. Now poets are usually wusses so I'm sure that he won't try and deny me, but I hope that he does because I'm in a mood for a fight and there's nothing like fighting a poet because they are pushovers. 

 Only once you fight me, you're in for that hurting.

 I smiled and knocked on the door, gently at first, but very quickly after a couple of minutes of silence as I gave him a chance to answer before I got angry, I knew that I had to knock again. And I always knocked a little harder the second time, getting angrier as I did. I'd break the door down after the third knock.

 And it would not end well for him if it came to that, even if he didn't resist me.

 I was about to knock on the door hard, wait thirty seconds then rip it off of its hinges, keeping true to myself when I heard a distinct 
but insistent hey from behind.

 "Hey, can I help you?"

 I turned and fixed him with my most creepy free smile that I could and nodded. "I only need one thing from you poet and it's Poem. Give me him and we won't have any trouble And believe you me, you don't want to mess with this." I said, pointing to myself then pointing back to him with a dismissive wave of my hand.

Charles Petrie

Date
09-23-19

Time 

19:48-21:55=127

Word Count
454

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