View Archives by:


Conditioning the Escape

P.F. Potvin

Whenever I want out, I beg Father from the bottle to the kitchen. There he unscrews
the pepper jar. I pinch my choice, try to choke it down, but for hours after still burn,
pulping in hand my halfeaten failure as the Tai ninjas continue their camouflage into
heat. Once certain that Father's passed out, I make them strip to calm. They shiver
my spit, then latch the window shut as I secret off.

P.F. Potvin

Read Bio

Author Discusses Poems