Seen Through The Slats Of A Fence

He couldn’t help wanting it
pain of shame like a cinder
Satan tucked it under his ribcage
stray cats came and sniffed him
he wouldn’t move
pea gravel denting his patella
there was another boy
riding it back and forth
red as a hill full of ants
gliding vanishing gliding back
never pedalling
like every direction was downhill
his hair was cut and stuck down
clothed like a mannequin
the first boy
could smell the sour
from his own shoes feel the breeze
coming up through the hole
in the back of his fraying sweater
where a barb had caught it
sharp point on a dark night
going into a farmyard after eggs
daring silent dogs stalking
and double barrels of buckshot
just so there’d be something
rather than water in his gut
water that quenched nothing
that meant nothing
as it ran out of his eyes

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a poet from Seattle Washington USA. His poetry has appeared in print in publications such as Bellowing Ark, Point Nopoint, and most recently in Contraposition magazine. When not writing poetry he is a Human Resources professional, a repentant glutton, and a novelist specializing in the weird-fiction genre.
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