His uncle used to make the kids step up
and punch him in the stomach, just to prove
how strong he was. The younger kids would cup
hands around fists; the old man wouldn't move
as each one came forward to take his turn.
The sound of knuckles slapping his plaid shirt
like raindrops, he waited for them to learn
that here was a bastard could not be hurt.
Years later, with his aunt twenty years dead,
the boy would tell him how his cousins used
to imitate him, punch their knuckles red
and go home with their stomachs sore and bruised.
The uncle smiled. "The trick is to be tense,
And hold your breath. Makes all the difference."
1 comment:
Okay, I admit it: I'm not really sure what I'm trying to say here. Maybe I'll figure it out someday and revise.
Anyway, I liked the story, so there it is. :)
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