1 minute read

Gaslight Bliztkrieg

by Ally Joehanson

Her body was her punching bag, Her bare fists her gloves, And bare knuckled Her blows landed. Into the flesh, Skin unto skin,

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She refuses to punish anyone But herself. She chose to enlist in a war That turned the ring Into a battlefield. Just Two casualties, her and her Lover.

She keeps fighting as a warrior, Ballistic missiles she launches, Plummeting into her thighs. They reverberate upon impact. The black and blue as brown soil Erupting across borders, still with no retreat. “He is not the enemy, Or is he? You are.”

The choice was no longer Hers when she woke up To iodine and sulfur-filled lungs. The battlefield reflected from her vanity mirror, “Why would you go To war? What were you Fighting for? Has anything even Changed?”

When she is released, The times she has a second Without the thoughts to breathe, She goes back to the gym. The punching bag was left torn, Tattered, as the stuffing lay strewn, Rips and gashes from the greatest Force of man; love. $250 WINNERROBERT HALLECK AWARD POETRY

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