Poem by Broc Riblet

 

Cupboard Door

Half-naked releaser whose name is like violence.
I’m scared of the panic of stones in my knees.
You’re my population, you know what to say.
Fat and licorice grow off the velcro of you
but I try to ignore food.
Let the pangs through the front door,
it’s supposed to be hard and it’s supposed to be crowded.
Even as citizens come to near blows.
And I flinch at thrown punches.
Mid-fear I remember this happened before.
Dreadful nonsound when the man became flat.
He was stiff head to toe, fell unhinged like
time ravaged an old cupboard door.
I’m fearing it now, I’m not cut out.
Fists won’t land if I shutter my eyes.
I’m old enough to know stretching, like fistfights,
can get pretty rough.
to admit that I’m hung up on hooks either way,
It will always be violence.
There will always be fistfighters.

 

Photography © James Conant
Photography © James Conant

 

Broc Riblet lives in Cincinnati and graduated from Defiance College with a degree in English. His short story “Light and Dark” has previously been published in Voluted Tales Magazine. His poem “Pale Bees” has been accepted for publication in Page and Spine.

James Conant is a Cambridge artist who was a primary illustrator for the online journal Spoonful.

 

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