Not enough war ...

Not enough war.
Not even enough posturing.
Where is my big dick?
Where are my balls?
What is my manhood
if not the freedom to kiss a cheek
with the tip of a blade.
My violence should verify itself,
because I am desperate
to buy little pieces of it
and prove that it exists.
At my Father’s,
I sleep in a children’s bed.
At my Mother’s,
my bed pulls out.
I’ve not even cried mockingly once.
But I have also yet to assault a stranger,
to put my fist through a jaw like a wall
in a guest bedroom.
I have yet to throttle a barista
for making the drink I forgot I ordered.
I have yet to invade a perfect family’s
cheap Italian dinner,
to snatch up Daddy’s fork with a twirl,
to insult Mommy’s dress,
and to challenge the kiddies to wrestle.
But do not give up on me yet.
I am but a man,
and my balls are absolutely somewhere.

Will Mountain Cox lives in Paris. His first novel is forthcoming from Relegation Books.
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