by Ryan Stovall
he’s Hescoed in, barricaded
behind his lectern, microphone
and dark horn rimmed glasses
an owl mumbling inanities
in place of poems
spewing cold
a broken pipe’s sewer gush
unintelligible stuff, cock-eyed diction
butter soft, incapable
of slicing to the bleeding quick
either intellect
or soul
I’d need two beers, I hush,
to stick my dick in this.
Bare minimum. My Army
buddy nods, rolls her eyes.
finally
it stops
and to close, a second owl stands
drums wings, clicks beak
and hoots the first’s pure courage
(context—self examination)
admiring at length the nerve required
to poetry
and to quote
so unflinchingly contemplate
the craven void within us all
I pick at an Afghanistan shard
stuck just beneath the skin
until my left leg bleeds
my heart’s disgust
at sheltered ivory tower fools
_______________
“Two, or More” is an excerpt from Ryan’s Black Snowflakes Smothering a Torch or how to talk to your veteran – a primer
Ryan Stovall is a former adventurer, world traveler, and Green Beret twice decorated for valor and awarded two Purple Hearts. Since returning from Pakistan in 2016 he has found writing to be a therapeutic outlet for coping with PTSD. His poetry won the 2018 Wright Award from Line of Advance and has appeared in Rosebud, The Cape Rock, Here Comes Everyone, and other journals and anthologies. Ryan writes and lives with his family in Western Maine.For more information contact christopher@woodhallpress.com
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