Written by Paul Hostovsky
I don’t wanna,
either.
You’re right,
the world is
hideous—
one can only
weep.
I feel like screaming
my head off
next to your screaming head,
our red
faces contorting
in concert,
kicking and squirming,
resisting,
convincing all the people
passing by
to join in,
wailing and
keening
in chorus,
with you the lead
crooner,
bandleader,
maestro.
First published in Compressed Journal of Creative Arts
.
Paul Hostovsky makes his living in Boston as a sign language interpreter. His poems and essays appear widely online and in print. He has won a Pushcart Prize, two Best of the Net Awards, and has been featured on Poetry Daily, Verse Daily, and The Writer’s Almanac. Website: paulhostovsky.com