Often and with Abandon

She crossed and then uncrossed

Both her friends and her thighs

Each often and with abandon

The former I found

Less intriguing than the latter

Legs I'd need a ladder to climb

Legs I would consider

Worthy of almost any crime

Her friends now former

Decidedly unbothered and

Unimpressed with attempts at uncrossings

Both legs or otherwise

All those

Half hearted requests for forgiveness

Casual lies and false meekness

Just like the Rubicon once crossed

There can be no going back

Ask Caesar

Who also fell out with his friends in the end

So who can blame former friends

Certainly not I

Focused intently on

Legs I would need a ladder to climb

Which she crosses and uncrosses

So often and with abandon

By: Daniel Smallegange, copyright 2025, all rights reserved.

Some artwork on my wall, by Walter Klassen.

Cartoon Written and Drawn by Daniel Smallegange, copyright 2022, all rights reserved.

Written and drawn by Daniel Smallegange, all rights reserved, copyright 2022.

The Crux of the Matter

The crux of the matter

This is what we are after

She said and then

Levelled the gun

And then

Pointing the gun in my direction

Pointing the business end of said gun

In my direction

This causing consternation and

Stuttering as

The wrong end of barrels pointing, mainly gun barrels pointing

Disagrees with my proclivity to discourse freely

Or at least without pause or repetitive actions

IE stuttering

So stuttering occurred and then increased with

The cocking of said weapon's hammer

The crux you say, I boldly and firmly managed

Though bold nor firm could describe my mental state at the time

Always the crux, it's the centre of things really, I tried

Naturally, said she and pulled the trigger three times

If anything was repeated after this

I heard it not

But I do know, in hindsight

The crux of the matter was not gotten at

Unless it involved my death

Which then begs the point

Why ask about it in the first place?

By: Daniel Smallegange, all rights reserved, copyright 2025.

Photo by Blake Morrow, from a still of the author from the short film The Officer.