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the last bar brawl
left him without
a chunk of his
upper lip
and a nose busted
beyond recognition
now his whole face
was swollen
like he was
wearing a
cheap rubber mask
his opponent
used brass knuckles
it seemed. Getting shot
probably wouldn’t have
hurt as much
but luckily he
kept his
teeth
Actually the teeth were fake
from another
brawl
but at least they didn’t
come off
It was a weird sort
of luck
And the law of luck was
what he believed in
and he theorized about
it whenever he
got drunk
or high on his prescription
medicine
“A balance has to
be maintained,” he said. “This
thing is sacred. An’ I’ll
fight everybody
who says it ain’t so!”
Likely a lot
of people
said it ain’t so
“There’s a sacred balance
in the universe.
You cannot have a streak
of bad luck
without…
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Daydreaming as a profession 
Didn’t think I would like this when I started, but it’s over and I enjoyed it. Thanks for sharing.
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Oh, I thank you for reading till the end!
(´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡
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Great poem, a bar brawler believing in a certain balance can be a bit hilarious.
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(つ✧ω✧)つ Thanks!
That’s what I thought too when I wrote it :))
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