much ado about nothin' ‘cept sex drugs and violence  

It was never about us, it was about little boys  
with grown-up toys trying to be men  
he was a harmless old drunk  
probably sniffed too much petrol in his time  
always had a hello and smile for the girls
 
And those boys…
they were just dogs pissing on their territory
and they treated us no better  
than nineteenth century whores
there for a quick knee trembler or sneaky blow job  
under a blanket while getting high on the couch  
 
I lit a cigarette and watched  
semi-disgusted from the kitchen  
the drug-fuelled macho show of two young guys
beating up an old man  
 
the other girls hid whimpering under a table  
like they’d never seen a punch-on before  
but I figured: better him than us  
those boys would get me drunk
to mess me up later, like they did all of us  
that came calling ‘round for a fix and a fuck  
 
I don’t remember the old guy’s face  
of what he looked like when they were done with him  
but I remember telling those bitches
to “shut the fuck up”  
as I cranked up Linkin Park on the radio
eyes half on the beating  
wondering what all the fuss was about  
it’s not like they were beating us  

© Indie Adams 2012