They had hidden a hornet nest in my mailbox,
sealed it in and shaken the box much.
Noon was time and I flapped it open for mail,
discovered stings, much energized running,
and yelps in leaps to my house.
Down the lane:
The prank-asses jerky and stumble-laughing.
The day came for unawareness, I scouted,
after waiting months for them to forget me.
With a large stick or small bough,
I ran into the street and knocked them
from their bicycles, watched them laying
on the pavement then, arms and legs flailing,
helpless, unable to stand or turn aright.
I then bent, showing my flyer-gun,
and jabbed them with staples, ka-chok ka-chok,
while they writhed and yipped and moaned,
little dots of red on their faces and hands—
What are you looking at?” one asked
as they sped by on their pedal-chain-wheels.
Going to prison, I thought, making
an old man’s choice to leave them be,
staple-gun tucked beneath my shirt,
leaning on the stick as if an improvised cane.
* * * * *
Ray Succre is an undergraduate currently living on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and son. He has had poems published in Aesthetica, Poets and Artists, and Pank, as well as in numerous others across as many countries. His novels Tatterdemalion (2008) and Amphisbaena (2009), both through Cauliay, are widely available in print. Other Cruel Things (2009), an online collection of poetry, is available through Differentia Press. His publications at Dr. Hurley’s Snake-Oil Cure can be found here.