Fake Ass

What if we swapped that tiny    
dancer in the music box,  
For a stripper on a pole,  
In the heat of intoxicated thoughts?  
   
Drunk and jealousy, trust me,  
don't mix,  
Friction ignites where emotions twist.  
Was it a fight over a customer’s gaze,  
Or did beauty alone set    
the stage ablaze?  
I wasn't in her mind, so I couldn't know,  
   
The tension that simmered,    
ready to blow.  
One stood on the side stage,    
the other with a client,  
Corona's in hand, the day shift riot,  
An affair of daylight,    
before the lights even dimmed,  
Shrek and Prince Charming,  
on a warpath grim.  
   
Heated words turned to hair in hand,  
Fists flew like storms on  
a shifting sand.  
A table overturned, chaos unleashed,  
The patron let's call him Fiona,
sensing danger,    
was quickly fleeced.  
But Shrek, with fury,  
 shattered the beer,  
Glass in hand, cutting through fear.  
   
A slice to Prince Charming's  
fake ass cheek, a cruel,  
sharp stroke,  
While the manager’s voice rang out, broke:  
"You're bleeding all over the carpet,  
damn it, I just shampooed these!"  
   
The scene was a tragedy,    
but laughter found its space.  
What fun’s a music box without its crowd?  
A spectacle in silence,    
too soft, too loud.  
Yet in this madness,    
I couldn’t help but grin,  
For sometimes, chaos is    
where the joy & night begins.  
   
NP