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Twinges
He talked like an old man,
Pissed her off, wasn't yet fifty.
"I should have been
A cop, a fireman, a pilot."
(Then do it, she thought)
"Sitting at a desk,
It siphons the life off."
Complained of twinges,
Said it felt like a worm
Would plug his artery
Until he gasped,
Then inch way
Into the corpus delicti.
Said he woke
To pin pricks
Round his heart.
If he could rub them away,
It was just muscle pain,
Again. Friday night
She watched
His pupil bloom
Like an oil spill.
They both screamed
When he fell.
He saw
Debris streaking
Across his inner lids
Like a failed re-entry
Corrupting soundless sky.
Brad Hatfield was born in Yakima, Washington. He graduated
from the University of Washington. Recent publications appear in
the WPA’s Whispers & Shouts, Snow Monkey: An Eclectic Journal;
Switched On Gutenberg; the Poetry Superhighway; the Orange Room
Review; Sein Und Werden, Best Poem, Words-Myth and Origami
Condom. He was the 2008 Winner of the Yakima Valley Allied Arts
Juried Poetry Contest, and is a Board Member of the Washington
Poet’s Association. Brad lives with his companion and their son
Grayson in Mill Creek, WA. |
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