Dreams Denied Inside Prison Walls
No one sees
the pink arms
of sun-laughing girls
in red convertibles
past the glaring
on top of the bulwark.
for guilty arms
but tattooed babes
under the muscled sleeves
of rippling gray tee-shirts.
The Little Boy Hides from the Ugly Man
like a summer peach
in the little boy's stomach
as he dives under the bed.
The man snarls and tears
through the shorts and tee-shirts
on the floor of the boy's closet. His face
gnarls like the cane he squeezes.
Foolish as a five-year-old can be,
the little boy laughs. Mortal laughter.
Wrenched by his arm, he begins to cry
before the fire starts to dance on his red back.
The man does not smell his own ugly stink.
The boy cries too hard to ask if his mother
will ever put a stop to this.
About the Author
CRAIG McVAY comes from Lafayette, Indiana, and has lived most of his adult life in Columbus, Ohio.
His degrees are in Classics and English, both of which he has taught in schools, community colleges, universities, and prisons.
His poetry and fiction have appeared in print and online including Avatar Review, Blue Unicorn, Classical Bulletin, Grey Sparrow, Icon, and other journal and books.