Floored (A How-Not-To)
- Carter Breton
I hit Cole.
Polaroids: his fingers locked inside the other boy’s belt loops, pulling up and in.
Parallels: my fingers locked inside my palm, pushing out and through.
Into Cole’s lips, parted and dumb against that mouth. Against my fist.
My son hits back though. Catches me snoozing. The smell of his mother’s perfume clumping with my blood, rings they shared crackling.
From across the bar:
“You teach him that Daryl?” I nod. Cole looks back, hips swaying.
- Carter Breton
I hit Cole.
Polaroids: his fingers locked inside the other boy’s belt loops, pulling up and in.
Parallels: my fingers locked inside my palm, pushing out and through.
Into Cole’s lips, parted and dumb against that mouth. Against my fist.
My son hits back though. Catches me snoozing. The smell of his mother’s perfume clumping with my blood, rings they shared crackling.
From across the bar:
“You teach him that Daryl?” I nod. Cole looks back, hips swaying.