Nighttime Warfare*
For hours carried on a snail’s back,
the thirteen-year-old boy
knelt on hard, cold concrete
twisting and turning the Laguiole
down
down
down
his forearm rubber,
bicep pumped to capacity,
knees a kaleidoscope of colors.
Pawpaw and Granny’s liquor cabinet
held the key to his relief;
all pain would be washed away
with the first sip of his reward.
Shavings of walnut adorned sweaty flesh,
the floor a bedraggled sty
when he finally bore his way through the wood
an alcohol-filled heaven awaited.
an alcohol-filled heaven awaited.
Down
down
down
slid the warmth with the first sip.
Sleep would finally find him.
*Many wanted more from Friday's poem, so I decided to write this for you. I hope you enjoyed it!
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