You're chippy,
difficult to handle and
poisonous as paint flakes
in a crumbling home and
twice as sweet
across the tongue.
You're chippy,
sharp and witty and
cutting as a thin bladed
flint ax held checked
to a handle by threads and
skin splitting.
You're chippy and
give me fits of glee
in the way
a man trying to fell big game
finds joy in the conferral of
a bow and stone tipped arrow.
You're chippy and
give me fits of teething pain
in the way
a man trying to be himself and nothing more
must give in to wearing hats
if he is to keep his cheeks dry
in driving, unpredictable, rains.
A chip on a shoulder
makes a body hungry,
makes a body lean, and
that hunger does
make a body mean.
When you are not
all pepper and vinegar and broken glass and
you are tempered
with purpose and
perhaps fixed
on targets pointed
away from me
you are always a joy to keep company.
