“Temper”

Mine is a shotgun

Waiting…slow…

Only a couple barrels of ammo

Packed with the birdshot

Of a thousand pecks and jabs

Holding it in

Until finally the trigger pulls

and BAM!

@#!$ you

Yours is a submachine

Constant, steady

An endless supply of small frustrations

Spitting out anger

Into anything that crosses your path

Never ceasing

Until finally the clip empties

and click

reloads

I couldn’t love an unarmed person

Your temper keeps it fair

Makes us stronger

Because expectations make us angry

And so long as I expect

And you expect

More

Then all we have to do my love

is learn to

aim.