Feeble Minds Poem by Simbarashe Raymond Mudukuti

As I swing the portal into this Mexican salon
I can't feel my legs nor is anything visible
This cheap gin I've been sipping is getting to me
I've trapped myself in my own solitudes
I advance towards the counter
Castle and Label is all what's left
Give me real men's beer
Black
She hands me my Label and its carling cold
Before I even seat down the feeble minds starts shouting
Should I shout the odds backs?
I refrain myself
Obscene words come out of their lewd mouths
Wrath feels me to the let's exchange fists stage
I manage to control my rage and move out staggering with my Label
Well, what can you expect in a ghetto
Our inundate brains have nothing and we feel entitled
For real profanity is the toil of feeble minds to express itself forcefully
Origin anonymous
Had I fallen into its trap
So would I have gotten into a fight?
Yes.