Sucky Customer Poetry Slam

[LillFilly]

I was going through some poems and found this one from several years ago when I worked Hotel Security and was confronted with a mentally disturbed man in the lobby who claimed his wife had sent men to kill him but he shot them and tossed the bodies off a local bridge He said he still had the gun in his pocket, so I kept him engaged in conversation so we wouldn't lose him while the terrified night auditor called police. It all ended well and he went quietly, and it inspired me to write this; it's a little different from my usual poetry.

If I should die

Fuck, Death!
Man he looked crazy,
was he loaded or unloaded;
I couldn't tell.
He was talking from his pocket.
He spoke in sane words
but he sounded insane
altogehter.
I could only stare
and smile,
trying not to look at my cards,
but nearly crapping out
and wondering,
if the chips are worth dying for,
even if you are friends
with the Dealer.

Anyone else ever cope by writing poetry?

[Food Lady]

I used to. I was going to write a poem after Plaid's death, but was too busy crying. I do tend to just make up songs about stuff that irritates me. I'll do it on the spot, but I don't share them with coworkers anymore, let I get a weird look.