February 2, 2018

When I’m insulted, I don’t retort.
When I’m irritated, I don’t let it show.
Instead, I bottle up my anger and frustration,
Aging it like a fine Bordeaux.

Waiting for the long-awaited day,
When I find someone of overabundant sass,
Of whom I would seat in the parlor
and pour him a brimming glass.

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