Chin II by Kyle Hemmings

Chin is rolling on the floor, his face dense and twitching,
as if bitten by 99 mutant fleas. He’s in withdrawal
from the designer drug–NarcoFezz. “Will sugar work?” I ask.
“And granulated or confectionary?”The small of his exposed back
leaves wet marks on the floor. Like the spotty vestiges
of a homeless animal gaining ground. “No,” he says,
“the only thing that works is to beat the shit out of me.
Like not rolling your punches.”  I stare at his pathetic curled up form,
womb-like womb-wanting, but sorry, Buddy, no womb for you.
“Like this?” I ask. I start punching his shoulders, his thighs.
“No,” he says, “too soft. Soft won’t slay me. Hit me here,”
he says. “Here!” He points to his heart. “There?” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, trying to speak with clenched teeth. ”
And hard,” he says,” it worked for B.B. Gretsch,
a supplier of DreamDram. Stopped the jitters cold.
” Really? I punch straight down to his heart.
His body goes into a spasm. Then stops.
His form is lifeless. But I stopped the twitching.

Kyle Hemmings
Kyle Hemmings is a retired health care worker. His latest collections of poetry/prose are Scream from Scars publications and Split Brain on Amazon Kindle. He has been published in Otata, Wigleaf, Haibun Today, [b]oink, and elsewhere. He loves 50s Sci-Fi movies, manga comics, and pre-punk garage bands of the 60s.

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