Robert Hamilton

Every father is
at some point
Saul with a fist
full of javelins.

Both of you stop this.
Stop hitting yourselves
with tennis rackets.

A vacuum balloons in
my chest. Presented with pricks, I
kick. A pilum lets fly,
skids on concrete in a comet
of sparks. My autoharp falls
dumb. Outside, meteors, metaphors.

Robert Hamilton has published recently in Prelude, Kaaterskill Basin Literary Journal and Axolotl, among others. Originally from the Pacific Northwest, he now writes and teaches in East Texas.

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