Mark Ward paints a chilling picture of parental abuse based on gender performance and implied sexual orientation.
—
Next Town Over Kid
Our lives did not intersect
beyond the time I saw him
dragged down Main Street
flailing in his father’s grasp.
Only slightly older than me,
the boy screamed sibilant
apologies for some actual
confirmation of his lisp,
the soft esses elapsing,
the boy collapsing in
hysteria against the war
memorial. A life now over,
his father lunging to
block the view of his son
now screaming certainty;
tales of a neighbor’s boy
that nobody needed
to hear, his manner was enough
to know. What happened
after he got home? Never seen
again. I didn’t even know his name.
Walking home, I caught my father
when he thought I wasn’t looking,
smiling at the boy I was, proud
that I was not what we had just seen.
I stared at myself in the mirror
until night fell, checking
my reflection, grateful that
our lives did not intersect.
***
Interested in submitting poetry to The Good Men Project? Check out our guidelines.
Like The Good Men Project on Facebook
Photo by Mo/Flickr