Asleep at all Hours

"Jake, come on, man, wake up."

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"Well, yeah, it's his dream to become a professional boxer, but. . .every time he's threatened he goes to sleep. I don't want to put down his dreams, you know. . .but he has to know it isn't gonna work out, right?" -Paul Dempsy

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Jake has a girlfriend who fully supports his dream. Karen, the aspiring boxer's girlfriend, age fifteen, enjoys canning apples as her hobby.

"Why wouldn't he be able to do it? If a cripple can win a marathon, why can't he win a boxing match? I mean, I guess it would be hard if he couldn't stay awake, but he might get a K.O. on his first punch, right?! Then he'd win!" -Karen Scott

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On a cloudy afternoon Jake Krantz and his friend Paul Dempsy were assaulted on their way home from the local library. The assault took place around 2:30 P.M. on a Saturday in November. The perpetrators were looking to confiscate the young boys' wallets. Mr. Dempsy gave the perpetrators his wallet at the first sign of trouble, but the attackers, presumably after a good time more than money physically assaulted the two boys despite already attaining their prize. The first strike directed at Mr. Krantz's abdominal region resulted in the boy's capitulation to sleep. The teenage assailants, upon seeing the boy fall to the ground, fled the scene in panic. Mr. Dempsy cleaned the blood from his battered face and moved to check on his friend, making sure not to touch, sixteen year old, Jake to be sure the boy would not shut down further. Paul attempted to awaken his friend with the words, "Jake, come on, man, wake up."

And People I knew were in the Hall

And People I knew were in the Hall

You and I were

bathing in a white

tub with green claws holding

it up. Your pants

were still on

because you’re a little self

conscious about showing

your legs to me.

I was naked,

and we were watching a movie

on the TV across from our tub.

Kissing your jawbone,

“My mom will be mad

if she walks in on us.”

You smiled with the smile

you use in devilish pleasure

rather than out of joy.

I focused on tiny, dark hairs

above your lips, and you told me,

“We’re fine.”

I got out and started

dressing.

Water sloshed from the basin

and you were out.

“Oh, hey,

I’m gonna take off.”

I became a cape

around your neck.

“You can’t leave me

now.”

And you were already

in the doorway when you said,

“But I like England;

it smells like Spain.”

Night Melting

Night Melting

Remembering real life

exists coincides with feeling

the lemony soreness

of my shoulders. Realizing

I never opened a door—one

with little turquoise

gems and gold paint

incorporated lavishly into the framework—

that led me to a stair-filled

world of demons, is exactly

the same as finding

a miniscule mound of gunk

piled in the corner of my eyes. I’m always

trading love-filled ship rides

for bright lights and bad breath.

Something Much Needed

I dreamt about my grand—

father last night.

He trembled oddly

as he hugged me. I thought

perhaps it was because

of his age, but

he seemed no older

than I ever knew him.

He was still sturdy,

round and wearing

suspenders.

I’d call him Grandpa

Malcolm if I had another

who shared his title;

just like I had a Grandma

Marie and

Grandma June.

But there was never a reason

to do the same for him.

And when he died

I stopped talking

about him altogether.

Not that I spoke

of him much in his

life.

But I’m certain

there’s something bringing

him back. Because I

never knew him, never

received his sagely

advice, I must have

called for his hug

in some way.