How boys play
By Jane Hyphen
- 112 reads
They roll over, rolling over
like little dogs,
and only for the worst one,
the most depraved, the wolf.
They follow blindly,
lining up to spit,
just where the others spat;
the foamy pond of their comrades.
Their tumid insides screaming,
both for more and for the ending,
like the pirates of their story books
who tore their mother ship
upon the jagged rocks,
drowning among purple floods
as they cooled their father’s fury
on ever more lightless depths,
gasping as the air ran out
and yearning the milk of forgiveness
from daughters who will never know
and mothers who distill their names
through the helplessness of their kind.
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Comments
"...the foamy pond of their
"...the foamy pond of their comrades.
Their tumid insides screaming..."
That's a deep introspection of how little boys are. Some wonderful lines, imagery and metaphor. Perhaps the most depraved is a wolf. Just maybe.
Enjoyed this, Jane.
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