THE POSE by Dennis Doph

beyond beyond . 67

I like to take my streetside pose
with one foot out and a tilt to my nose
Pretending I'm a cellphone-scofflaw deputy
to all the bad mad drivers I can see

I strike a deadly pose without a doubt
(with a tilt to my nose and one foot out)
when I see some bitch toolin' along so grand
with a cellphone clutched in her hot little hand
I whip out my own cell and then I pretend
To be dialing the cops and then to send
A message that a scofflaw is in my sight
and should be grovelling like a dog in prison tonight

So I pretend to be reading her license plate
Punching in the numbers to seal her fate
Then I beller to the bitch, Yer breakin the law
And I give her a sign with my unoccupied paw
She's been singled out as one bad mad person
and of all scofflaw-drivers there's no example worse'n

All this posing went fine till Tuesday at three
when I was standing at Rossmore and Beverly
Saw this chick babbling away on her cell
Waiting at the traffic light to go pell-mell
So I stood right there in my fearless pose
Striking attitude with that FUCK YOU tilt to my nose
Punching imaginary numbers into my little phone
Giving the bitch in the car a FUCK YOU bone

She scoped out what I was doing and this scofflaw star
Cranked down the window of her bunged-up car
Screamed SON OF A BITCH and what is more
She leveled down on me with a handy .44
Giving me no marginal reason for doubt
That to continue her cellphone-fetish she would take me out!

Well; being a person with respect for his ass
I hunkered right down on the freshly mown grass
Dropping my cell and, like a grunt in Iraq
Looked for some cover for my freaked-out back
And the bitch chortled with unmitigated glee
at how she had made a real rool out of me

But all over California this sticks in their craw
And they curse Schwarzenegger for this hated new law
Insisting they can drive with foolish intent
doing any stupid fucking thing they might invent
Buffing their nails; picking their nose
Sloshing hot coffee all over their clothes
Eating yesterday's lunch while reading the Times
Separating their pennies and nickels and dimes
Doing anything but just fucking DRIVE
While we wonder why these stupid bitches are even alive

So I continue to stand with my cell in my hand
Making my presence felt as a reprimand
To these drivers toolin' along in some beat-up car
and what a pain in the butt I really think they are

for when a scofflaw is toolin' along in plain sight
He belongs (like a dog) in some prison tonight
And if they scream or begin to shout bloody murther
I'll just tilt my famous nose up even further
Stick out my foot, and, without another word
Punch in my imaginary message
and throw them the bird