He struts down the sidewalk
With a hint of a frown
His spoon swings beside him
Jaunty hat as his crown.

Childers peep with a gasp
As they watch him strut down
The musk that follows him
The stains on his gown.

There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef, they say,
Of this Badass Town.

He pounds dough to a pulp
Whisking eggs beyond shape
Beets up on the salad
Stomping vatfulls of grape.

Skewers meat without thought
Chops neat through a bone
Flays sharks without care
Needs no sous, works alone

The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.

He hangs up his cleaver
At the end of the day
Dripping droplets of what
None have courage to say

He blows out his flambe
Spoon back at his side
Turns back to his war zone
Fists clenched with quiet pride

There he goes, they whisper,
As the sun settles down
The Badass Chef
Of this Badass Town.

I wish I was badass
            people took me seriously
            I wore contacts, not glasses
            I actually had that piercing
            my tattoos were cooler
            my scars were sexier