Scolding

Coming down
like a rent-a-cop’s
six D-Cell Maglite

every word of hers
an angry unlit
potentially blinding torch

whupping heavy on my head
whapping crunchy
on my wrists and knees

like I was a poor concert-goer
caught lighting up in my seat
who backtalked her at the wrong moment

and with a soundtrack at 140 decibels
she did me in one blister at a time
until I crawled out from under

and ran for the exit
that black pipe full of lead
whistling in the air behind me

though all it was after all
was words — electric words
that didn’t even light up the room

but laid themselves hard
on me until I burned and ached
unnoticed by the cheering crowds

knowing I’d feel this one for days
and this time the ringing in my ears
would not be pleasant to recall