where I’m the great white shark
kept separate from other fish.
It recognizes violence in me,
always present, though masked by fear.
Not much larger than the head
of a cotton swab,
its armor looks like wet sand
on a sidewalk at twilight.
It knows I’m watching it watch me &
begins a journey from the center out,
goes up then down, left then right.
Wherever it travels,
it finds my eyes already there.
I press the button twice for washer fluid,
a blue deluge,
rubber blades swiping
as in the hands of a child playing surgeon.
--
Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, most recently Escape Envy. His writing has appeared in Indiana Review, Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, Harvard Review, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes and tries to stay out of trouble. His seventh collection, Tell Us How to Live, is forthcoming in 2024 from Fernwood Press.