A Short Story, Nine Months Long

The dollar store condom packaging shoulda read, “free shotgun wedding with every purchase, details inside.”

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Punch Drunk

No rings,
just the bell.

Swift
lofty, feathery things,
and dappled eggplant swell.

Rustling canvas scrape
with knuckles, cracked and kinetic kink,

curled,

bound with vibrant tape,
palms press to fingers, identity’s ink.

Heavy blows
sling tendon soup,

fractured broken shattered cracking leaking pinbone busted nose,

wingless victory standing tall
still stoops.