Sunday, February 6, 2011

Seeking Refuge (continued)

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
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.
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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