Underbelly

He was a man, it was true.
Probably a good one though there was no way to be truly sure.
A middle manager’s middle manager.
A man so perfectly middling, he was in a way, in his own way,
perfect!
“The reason you make two of them” he drawled as he rolled out the blessing of his knowledge, “is that if one fails, you have a spare.”
This gem of wisdom, was delivered from the heights of superior knowledge
and simultaneously from the depths of a protected slouch.
The result of course, was straight down the middle.
His body half turned, arms crossed over a grey shirt.
Once the undisputable wisdom of the obvious had been bestowed,
nothing would be allowed back in.
His arms were battlements.
His soft underbelly turned away from the danger of the pack of feral wolves that surrounded him.
He knew their kind, they would strike at the smallest sign of weakness.
Tear him limb from limb.
He showed them no weakness in his offering.
Though he truly had nothing to fear
for to argue against the obvious would simply plunge us all into his world
and there was still enough fire in our belly’s to resist.
We wolves prefer something tastier,
something to get our big white teeth into.

Yes, probably a good man.
Probably middling.

Copyright Faramond Frie © 2015

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