question asked by Heather Leigh Noble
Why I feared the hidden inside me,
struggled to write it, allow the pen
to dip itself in red——
I swung my metal lunchbox
at another child’s head
on the playground,
laid him out, cut a dime-sized hole,
the cherry mouth of a newt.
He socked me in the back
after I retrieved what he took by force.
I never learned how to fight,
can’t throw a punch
to save my face from a prison fist.
I was eight or nine——alone, afraid,
angry about things I don’t remember,
as I don’t recall the boy’s name,
what happened after,
or if any punishment leveled
could be greater than living
with knowledge of capacity for harm.
Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, most recently Escape Envy. His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Hanging Loose, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes, watches Criterion films, and tries to stay out of trouble. His forthcoming books include poetry collections, My Pandemic / Gratitude List from Mōtus Audāx Press and Tell Us How to Live from Fernwood Press, and his first short-story collection, Always One Mistake, from Running Wild Press. His favorite revenge movie is Payback.
