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
Dangling
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.