I’m quite the curmudgeon
with a stare that scares the stars
and a tongue like a cat o’ nine tails.
My breath’s a balmy bludgeon,
my wink’s a flower witherer.
I’ve the swagger of a shark,
the moxie of a mule,
and my pitch-black boots
are made of old leather belts
weathered by years
of corporal punishment.

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