The Art of Execution


  • Passion

    The Art of Execution

    I notice her from across the club
    She entered with an entourage of trophies
    But she's the prize, my friends
    Strobe lights flash, the base beat drops, and I go cold
    Say goodnight to casual, I'm a predator now
    I'm not the only one either, skulls turn like bobble-heads
    Beauty is the instinctual magnet of real men
    But these are lesser men than I tonight
    I begin my advance, so smooth, so slow
    Amused as I watch the pawns strike out one by one
    They're unknowing set-up men, necessary accomplices
    I'm a lion with blinders, there's nothing I want more
    As she mercilessly rejects her third would -be suitor,
    She glances up and finds my eyes through the horde
    A slight smile briefly breaks across her facade, aware.
    She's looking forward to a challenge,
    Some entertaining banter followed by anticipated rebuff
    She knows so little about my manner, my method.
    A talent with words, a power with persuasion
    I've mastered the mystique of a man who could care less
    She came to play her game, I came to take my prize
    I envelop her in pre-designed conversation
    Her mask drops quickly and her routine falters
    The ambiance is heavy, the drinks are strong
    This neutral court has shifted into home field
    Her slightly chunky friend knows exactly what I am
    But her discreet counsel reeks of jealousy and resent
    I learned to bypass chaperones with ease long ago
    As we exit the chaos in semi-haste, the irony sets in.
    Once again the question persists at this familiar point.
    Is the best yet to come, or has it already passed?
    In the morning, prize by my side, the query remains
    I reflect and admire the parade of events that led us here
    In comic fashion I desperately attempt to recall her name
    While considering the utter success of my greatest skill.
    The Flawless Art of Execution

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    copergirl commented on The Art of Execution


    Very well written, I take away from this that the author is slightly bored with the art he has perfected.

    Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    joeallegro’s Poems (11)

    Title Comments
    Title Comments
    The Non-Tradition
    al Student
    The Death of PC 1
    Little Red Riding Hood (The Wolf's Version) 5
    Open Sky 3
    The Art of Execution 2
    Horrible Things 3
    Fragility 0
    Work the Rut 0
    Crazy You, Crazy Me 3
    Missing Home 1
    Monsters and Maybes 0