Sugar-brained nitrous-wired conviction demanded we choose potatoes over eggs pranking houses was Art at fifteen years old we painted pay-phoned death threats sculpted lawns with shit-spackled underwear the pizza slapped on L's new Ford pickup was an ars poetica fuck eggs we were geniuses not monsters seeking fortune across South Montford's mass-produced mazes our last New Year's Eve together D found handles of 40-year-old vodka in his father's attic relics of an abundant age splashed Red Bull in our blindness G brought a sack of 20 russets under dim starlight we skulked through lawns windows lit our way with New York's sponsored content dream to L's snowless brown-crunch lawn we launched a spud storm against the roof because the sound goddamn that sound was glory then we shrieked back to safety an hour later we unleashed a second barrage L appeared shirtless shoeless shouted Cowards Fucking Cowards because he knew us because his doorbell reminded him almost every night that his wife was gone our pride clamored for a third assault potato skins barely airborne when L the mad drunk god victim of a thousand neighborhood lies burst outside pursued us nude through the ice night to powerlines beneath the boundless hum of American energy L snared G both tumbled to sand he throttled G's neck with its newborn beard L long past mercy what would you do knowing another year had left you behind the rest of us grabbed L begged forgiveness like it was mother's milk Let Him Go Please We're Sorry Just Let Him Go.
Michael McSweeney lives in Massachusetts. His first novel, Heroman, is forthcoming from Expat Press.