Sonnet for All the Times I Ate Breakfast with a Lump in My Throat

Let all my rejections serve as places to start
being jerked from my mother’s tit, slung
by torn artery into the bosom of a wolf.
The mispelled word that cost me my first
ride in a plane to Memphis, the time I got
popped with a twisted wet towel on bare ass
in 7th-grade gym just because someone
in the group stole another boy’s wallet.
I hate you, Coach Page, for harboring
such a distorted philosophy. The time my
mother caught me having sex with a neighbor
boy and said it would crush my father if he
knew. I was ready to jump out of the box
and look my future in the face. It ends well.

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About the Author

John Dorroh has never caught a hummingbird or fallen into an active volcano. He has however, baked bread with Austrian monks and drunk a healthy portion of their beer. Five of his poems were nominated for Best of the Net. Others have appeared in over 125 journals, including Feral, El Portal, River Heron, and Kissing Dynamite.