JAMES BENGER
They're shooting bottles off of
what’s left of the split rail fence
that separates the Park
from that farmer’s land.
No one’s seen the old man in years;
word is he’s been in there
rotting away, or maybe he’s
a zombie or a vampire or
something else from late night T.V.
Most of the boys (and the one girl,
whom if we’re being honest is an
exponentially better shot than the rest)
are equipped with pellet pistols
and b.b. rifles, and the one
extra sad kid with a slingshot
he makes sure everyone knows
is not a slingshot, but a wrist rocket.
But the one older boy, he might be sixteen,
he’s got his dad’s or his uncle’s or his brother’s
(no one’s ever been brave enough to ask)
.22, and he’s a pretty good shot,
and even when he goes wide,
he still does some damage.
Plastic soda bottles are okay,
but the real fun comes from the
brown longnecks they find littering the gutter
that parades itself as a road
through the middle of their community.
The girl (no one’s asked her name;
most of the boys are too nervous around her),
she’s more into the aluminum cans,
maybe because she can find them in abundance
in every corner of the trailer
she shares with what’s left of her father.
The kids almost never speak
except to maybe cheer on a particularly good one;
no words are needed when this is it,
this is the best purest, most innocent
way they can find a release from
what they’re rapidly realizing
is the life waiting for them
on the other side of childhood.
As the sun starts to touch the top
of the crumbling farmhouse in the distance,
no words are needed;
they all know.
James Benger is the author of several books of poetry and prose. He serves on the Board of Directors of the Writers Place, and on the Riverfront Readings Committee, and is the founder of the 365 Poems in 365 Days online workshop. He lives in Kansas City with his wife and children.
Author Index: James Benger
Twisted River Review ~ Issue 1: Winter 26/27