Dance on their graves

I talked to a friend who should knew better than
to share confidence with me, but he erred in his
judgement, fed me information he may
regret in years to come. No, I am not going to
share it with you, I am less dilettante than that,
but I was intrigued. I now possess enough of the
good stuff to level the playing fields and take a
wicked serve at the managers who make our
weekend market activities a misery. I could be
a serial pest with an axe to grind, I could be a
dropper of loaded hints and dark innuendo, I
could crack shady jokes and laugh uproariously
each time they appear to collect fees. But I won’t,
I will bide my time, and when there is no way they
can get back at me, I imagine then, and only
then, I shall dance on their graves.
© I.D. Carswell