Jason Aguirre


So there’s this man

Who wakes up one morning

Looks in the mirror

And sees a pimple on his nose

A bulbous thing

That could be its own creature

A live and cruel entity

A deformed twin

The man

Rather than leaving it alone

Or popping it

Takes his father’s Bowie knife

—The one his pop claimed killed many in The War—

From its place on the wall

And slices his face

Down one side

Then the other

Until his nose

Is hanging

Off his face


Blood everywhere

The man does not scream

Does not grimace

Rather, he smiles

He smiles for all the men

Whose fathers spoke only the language of violence

And whose sons

Had best not cry



Jason Aguirre’s work has previously appeared in Infernal Ink Magazine. He lives in New York, and is currently going back to school to major in English.