Poetry

I killed a man with a javelin. The javelin wobbled in the air but made no sound. The victim was a gray man in a herringbone suit, & the javelin went through him.

When Jude came back to class He did not talk about the accident. His right arm, severed at the elbow, Would move by reflex, To his embarrassment and ours. He would bend over,

Round jewel eyes. Sagging white alligator throat. Head and shell camouflaged as stone. Laying your eggs this morning. Lifting and straining to drop perfect quarter-size balls of your glistening unearthly white future into

You tiny Apache, lethal little prick– keep your distance. Poke me, and I’ll hose you down with Raid from fifteen feet away. You’ll suffocate. I’ll go inside to sweat and

or rat-tails or poor penmanship. Miss Moss-Ayad wouldn’t stand for it. A far cry from now in the backyard, cheeks on the ledge of a seat. Shoulders slumped. Sinking. Watching a siskin