Poetic Vengeance: The Asshole Who Stole My Media Player

A fiery, funny, and surprisingly intellectual poem about a stolen media player and the ultimate revenge. Discover what happens when a poet gets robbed. Translated from portuguese by Allan Vidigal

TO THE ASSHOLE WHO STOLE MY MEDIA PLAYER

Sorry, sir, but you have come too late.
Months before you might not even need a pistol
you would just have had to feign some sentiment
to render me ever-so-feeble
and there’d be a better mobile
furnishings, apartment...

A brother (yours as a matter of fact)
came by before and all that I had left
was that present-day artifact, 
a phone you called it I think.
Allow me to report
that it just stores data and
is a whole different thing.

Which report made me remember
– I do not josh –
my papers back in college,
and thereby a painter 
called Bosch. It may well not
be quite your leaning
to get the meaning of this rhyme,
but be it as it may
you, sir, are clearly buggered
since you took the device
but left the charger on the wall plugged. 

This fruit of my toil
that is wasted on your person
will cost more dear than a metaphor 
covering hell, and arse, and arson.
I promise you you’ll pay 
and for threatening to “shaft her”
your hereafter is enshrined
as a curse in meter laid

I most sincerely hope
that you’ll never graduate
from your life as a street rough
and remain a bumbling dope
hitting interns for their stuff.
The poetic justice 
of measly hourly pay
lies in knowing there’ll be nothing
for you to take away. 

Oh, I’m sure you will find out 
how the word can be a menace
ever the butt of jokes
of a girl in proper clothes
as she fumbles around for pennies.
Poor thing you, poked
by countless fearsome legions
of hip, cool academics
and loyal flea-market patrons

So count this as your penalty:
to deal with someone heralding
on the media, books and news
that you’re worthy of disdain.
And should perhaps what’s transpired
by any chance slip our minds
may you go out on the loose
and rob a poet once again.