Over the summer his mother left him at the beach. He’d walk over the shingle, past the spidery cluster of sticks that was once a yacht, to a spot beneath the cliffs. While he was reading a man came up and asked if he wanted to wrestle. He looked up at the man, surprised, and replied « where ? » The man pointed to some ground beyond the beach. We never found his body.
October 10, 2012
This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 10th, 2012 at 5:59 am and posted in New poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
- @Joel_Hughes another film but youtube.com/watch?v=psNuJu… 2 days ago
- @Joel_Hughes I love his hand gesture while he's doing that 2 days ago
- @Joel_Hughes and this youtube.com/watch?v=GbcfyL… 2 days ago
- @Joel_Hughes I'm from downtown 2 days ago
- @Joel_Hughes ... some broad your trying to screw, so forth ... 2 days ago