High School Beating
Wynn Yarbrough
There is nothing
solid in the wall
if the ringing of the bell
lasts longer
than her body
sailing in mid-air
and her landing
by the sink.
When she spit
in his face,
flashed her teeth
through a tirade
of venom,
he baptized her
so hard
she forgot her name.
His first shot
wasn't to the face.
He didn't smear
her white plaster face
or split her lip or
install a new set of rings
around her
sleepless eyes.
He pulled underneath
his body, dug deep
into a barren well,
planted his feet firmly
and, with an undercut,
pushed her untethered belly
against the spines
of her ribs.
So tough, she
laughed until
he kneed her skull
against the wall,
cracking her head.
The last bit
of fantastic, red
love spilling
down her perfect
cleavage. Then he went
to his corner, shaking
his head, with a sigh,
undeniably cleansed:
waiting for the
next round.
