the brutal truth

the brutal truth

this is less a poem
than a pink, twitching rock face.

hands down, my worst
moment came at twelve
near an unnamed lake,
stocked with trout,
at nick keilly's trailer park.
the swampy bits held
many bite-sized frogs.
oh yes, and a boulder.

it wasn't boredom though,
just twelve-year-old grossness
plain and simple. we justified it
saying those critters died
of heart attacks, probably,
before impact.
i recall nick's winning toss.
it just grazed the rock face,
damn near skinning that
shiny pink
twitchy mess.

the truth is often what you know
and no longer tell people.
the truth is, i am heavier now,
no longer being twelve.
i am heavier now
and navigate
accordingly.