The Great Depression

May 27, 2012
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There are five boys
walking down the

holding baseball bats, letting
them swing. Laughing at


There are four boys
walking down the


one of
Each boy has

green eyes and

had to
black hair and

go for
perfect teeth.

Each boy wants
to kiss you, but
hush, angel, it’s
a well-kept

There are three boys walking

down the beach, one of

them says he is

in love with you,

and he is holding your

hand, so it counts.
The other boys exchange
jealous glances and then
suddenly your boy is not
there anymore. He’s on
the ground nursing a
bruise on his rib, one
of the others hit him
hard and is trying to
comfort you
(you’re sobbing)
but you push him away
and you push and you
push him away and he
gets angry and he pushes
you into the sand and you keep sobbing,
and then the third boy, the one who has
watched until now, pulls out a butterfly
and punctures the second boy’s left
and you are gasping for air.
He looks at the knife with wide
deer eyes, and you look at the
knife, and you say the Lord’s
prayer, and the first boy with
his bruises tells you to shut
up. He thinks he loves you

He thinks he knows God better.

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