the rough

Come on, son, pull your head
out of the bag. Keep moving. I know
it hardly seems fair, the way
she slices you. It’s rough
how she hooks you, drags you
screaming to the bunker.
She’s given you the shanks
laughing her mischievous laugh.
Still. Brush the sand from your eyes;
you know you’re not the first man
to kneel on her greens,
water her turf with his tears
while she swings
an iron through his heart,
not the first to want to drive
a wedge through hers.

We’re wrapping up our book club on L.L. Barkat’s Rumors of Water over at TweetSpeak Poetry today. Stop over and for the story of this poem and to join the discussion.


About LW Lindquist

I'm a writer. I'm also a claims adjuster, helping people and insurance companies make sense of loss. I work out of my home in the rural Midwest most days, and other days, out of yours. When I'm not crunching numbers or scaling small buildings, you can find me with a stiff cup of coffee and a book on my sofa, bantering in the introvert's hideout on Facebook, or avoiding Twitter. I'm an editor at Tweetspeak Poetry, a premier play-place for poets, word lovers, artists and photographers. We're home to a poetry daily (Every Day Poems) and an award-winning press (T. S. Poetry Press) which boasts an Oprah Magazine Best Summer Read. We're also the fine confectioners of where you can share sweetness with someone special or the whole world.

One comment

  1. Again, this poem is just amazing. This time, I saw the “man” & “son” tension. Yes!

    P.S. Nice bio!

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