I sometimes stare at the front door
and I sometimes think
what would happen if someone
came in unexpectedly?

I imagine that I am in the kitchen
getting another beer when
here comes the intruder
a crowbar
knife
whatever

and my first instinct is, I
throw the bottle at his head
or hers

Killians
Guinness
Amber Bock
Blatz or PBR

I'm pretty sure they'd all have
the same startling effect
on your bone structure

I would hope, at least.

But the intruder would duck
and I wouldn't hit him with it

or her

the bottle would smash against the plaster wall

but by the time they got to look at me again
I'd knee them in the fucking face
maybe break nose bones
and then hit them on the back of the neck
with my pig iron cast of lenin

maybe I'd even sacrifice my
porcelain cast of Chairman Mao

over and over and over again
blood for tears

I'd call the cops
and all my friends
before I landed that final blow
that would kill and then

I'd wonder
what am I protecting?

Stick to prose, man.

Why's that? .

I don't know. Poetry's stupid, lol.

Everyone's a critic, huh?

Because your "poem" is just prose with linebreaks.

This is almost Bukowksi.

True. This could definitely be a Bukowski poem. However, Bukowski was pretty lame. His poetry is hardly poetry. I would almost say this is better because at least at the end it presents the philosophical question, "what am I protecting?" Those last two lines cause you to pause and think. They allow the poem to drift away before the "wait a minute..." moment when the reader realizes that's not such a profound question after all.

Bukowski and plath are big influences. So not much of a shock really. Nice critique though.

well it's from the heart i'll give you that

but otherwise GTFO