| Author | Message | ||
| steve
Moderator Username: twobyfour Post Number: 90 Registered: 05-2005 |
Why I Hide new revision Brad looks for me between periods. He doesn’t get good grades. I am behind moving screens of kids, prefer the perimeter shot over body contact under the hoop. There are no referees here. They tried to moon me in the locker room. Hands grasp at my wrists, I writhe, scream, climb arms, shoulders, clamp onto a sprinkler pipe like a high bar. I kick out in spiral patterns, bloody a mouth, break another’s rib. Coach busts in, hugs my blows to his chest before anything I just imagined can happen. I rush into the last stall, gasp between quiet heaves. Later, I wrench my little finger, lie to the doctor about how it was broken. Images of my father’s anger, lines of his face elongated, play in my mind. How we sound alike on the phone, how I look like him in baby pictures, my baby pictures. The last time, he threw me across the table but I did not break. I play flag football, miss the yellow stripe of cloth, crash the runner to the ground. He doesn’t get up for awhile. I’m bawling, run home in helmet and pads. My mother calls me a weapon that should be sheathed, yanks me off the team. I walk with an old man’s posture, curled towards my toes, have grown to six and a half feet, gentle giant, they call me, never been in a fist fight; I scabbard the killing blade with my bare hands. I prefer the corners, mailboxes without invitations, insides of lockers. Next year, I will go to Canada to avoid Nixon’s draft. In these places, I do not question revision 1 Brad looks for me between periods. He doesn’t get good grades. I am behind moving screens of kids, but never shoot the ball. Today, he doesn’t push on me, I don’t have to let him. They moon me in the locker room. Coach busts in when he hears me scream. I kick one, bloody his mouth, break another’s rib. Later, I wrench back on my little finger, lie to the doctor about how it was broken. My father throws me across the table when he loses his temper. He tells me later he is sorry, I think mom told him to say that: nothing broken this time. I play flag football, miss the orange stripe of cloth, crash the runner to the ground. He doesn’t get up for awhile. I’m bawling, run home in helmet and pads. My mother calls me a weapon that should be sheathed, yanks me off of the team. I walk with my eyes on the ground, have grown to six and a half feet, gentle giant, they call me, never been in a fist fight-- I scabbard the killing blade with my bare hands. I prefer the corners, mailboxes without invitations, insides of lockers. Next year, I will go to Canada to avoid the draft. In these places, I do not question | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4803 Registered: 11-1998 |
My thoughts: Brad looks for me between periods. He doesn’t get good grades. I am behind moving screens of kids, but never shoot the ball. Today, he doesn’t push on me, I don’t have to let him. The final two lines in this verse didn't seem to fit after I'd read the whole piece. If Brad is not pushing on the narrator that day, this seems to be contrary. I would assume violence evokes violence for this boy. If Brad doesn't push on him, then there is no violence on either boy's part and, hence, it is a non-event. Why tell me about a non-event? If Brad is looking for the narrator, doesn't that make him the bully? That made me question the entire verse and its significance in relation to the rest. They moon me in the locker room. Coach busts in when he hears me scream. I kick one, bloody his mouth, break another’s rib. Later, I wrench [back on] my little finger, lie to the doctor about how it was broken. My father throws me across the table when he loses his temper. He tells me later he is sorry, I think mom told him to say that: nothing broken this time. I'd reconsider that last line. I assume you were trying to inform the reader that something does get broken on other occasions when his father does this to him. However, I don't know whether that bit of info is important enough. The violence in the verse is shocking enough and you've established a genetic link between father's and son's violence already. I found the last line superfluous. I play flag football, miss the orange stripe of cloth, crash the runner to the ground. He doesn’t get up for awhile. I’m bawling, run home in helmet and pads. My mother calls me a weapon that should be sheathed, yanks me off [of] the team. I walk with my eyes on the ground, -- you are missing a chance to be poetic here. The narrator is grown now. Can he say "eyes on the ground" in a less cliched way? have grown to six and a half feet, gentle giant, they call me, never been in a fist fight-- hmmm, do you mean never been in a fist fight as an adult? Never seems contrary to a boy this violent. Surely he has been in fist fights as a child. He was in a fight in that locker room, wasn't he? I scabbard the killing blade with my bare hands. I prefer [the] corners, mailboxes without invitations, insides of lockers. Next year, I will go to Canada to avoid the draft. In these places, I do not question Is this a period piece? What draft? If so, you need to establish the time period somewhere earlier in the piece. That line kind of threw me because I don't know of any modern day draft. There -- have I paid you back well enough for that cup of tea with whipped cream on top? I hope so. If not, then I'll just have to think of something else. *grin* Love, M | ||
| LJ Cohen
Moderator Username: ljc Post Number: 2658 Registered: 07-2002 |
Steve, SOme thoughts for you to consider Brad looks for me between periods. He doesn’t get good grades. I am behind moving screens of kids, but never shoot the ball. Today, he doesn’t push on me, I don’t have to let him. I'm not sure I understand the final line in this stanza. Is the narrator taking a stand, or is he saying he doesn't need the spark of violence to justify his own anymore? They moon me in the locker room. Coach busts in when he hears me scream. I kick one, bloody his mouth, break another’s rib. Later, I wrench back on my little finger, lie to the doctor about how it was broken. The coiled violence in this kid is chilling My father throws me across the table when he loses his temper. It might be interesting to tie this into the incident at school somehow. Make the episode more specific He tells me later he is sorry, I think mom told him to say that: nothing broken this time. I play flag football, miss the orange stripe of cloth, crash the runner to the ground. He doesn’t get up for awhile. I’m bawling, run home in helmet and pads. My mother calls me a weapon that should be sheathed, yanks me off of the team. This doesn't feel in character to the narrator earlier. I walk with my eyes on the ground, have grown to six and a half feet, gentle giant, they call me, never been in a fist fight-- I scabbard the killing blade with my bare hands. This doesn't ring true, given the incident in the locker room I prefer the corners, mailboxes without invitations, insides of lockers. Next year, I will go to Canada to avoid the draft. In these places, I do not question I wonder about ending this with the previous stanza. I'm with M--the piece is not strongly enough rooted in a particular time to make the draft reference come alive. Hope something here is useful to you. Best, ljc http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/ | ||
| steve
Moderator Username: twobyfour Post Number: 103 Registered: 05-2005 |
dear M and Lisa ok ladies, thank you so much for your thoughts on this. I see the inconsistancies in what i thought i was saying and what i actually said. so nice to have fresh eyes check your perceptions  . soo, i've put up a revision that i hope is more consistant to my inner pictures of this. thx again s | ||
| Laurie Byro
Advanced Member Username: lauriette Post Number: 1170 Registered: 11-2003 |
i like this too alot nice work steve Laurie | ||
| Joshua
New member Username: deepthroat Post Number: 18 Registered: 07-2005 |
I enjoyed that. | ||
| steve
Moderator Username: twobyfour Post Number: 110 Registered: 05-2005 |
hi laurie/joshua thx for reading. i'm not sure this is finished yet, but i'm giving it some breathing room for now. s |
