The Wounded Kid
Alisia Sanchez
will hurt you.
The wounded kid will morph
into a terrible dragon
and breathe fire into every room.
The wounded kid will grow a hide so thick
it covers any bruises or bullet-holes.
They will grow a hide over the scars,
the stored-away scars, the hand-me-down scars
you have cut out of your skin like a cancer
and embedded beneath their scales--
a hide, a pelt, a protective layering,
a scorched crust,
and razor-blade-sharp teeth
that are made to pierce prey--
and they will hurt you.
And you will shake your head
(as most do)
at the injustice,
and there will be rage
because you’ll unbox the rage
you have tucked neatly in the corner,
in case of emergencies, and this is just that.
And the wounded kid will lose
against rage and they will go wandering down
the alleyway and they will cause chaos
in bars, grief at parties, loathing on street-corners,
and strangers will cry “Danger, danger, a dragon!”
and it will be a headline.
And they will be chased
by mobs and they will leave stains
on the concrete, shredded flesh and fresh
blood from where they have been cut,
and they will seek refuge
behind a dumpster, beneath a bridge,
tonguing their sore, their pain,
the pain you buried inside them,
and they will crawl begrudgingly to the faucet—
the river, the pond, the creek,
because it is parched,
because it is dying,
with an insatiable hunger
appearing as coldness,
thorns and needles everywhere.
And the police will catch it
and it will surrender its wrists
and it will wail about abuse
and it will be pulled apart
and its heart will be harvested for dinner.
And all will sigh with relief,
“Good thing that’s settled!”
And its corpse will contaminate the water,
and the water will drip from your faucet.
The wounded kid will morph
into a terrible dragon
and breathe fire into every room.
The wounded kid will grow a hide so thick
it covers any bruises or bullet-holes.
They will grow a hide over the scars,
the stored-away scars, the hand-me-down scars
you have cut out of your skin like a cancer
and embedded beneath their scales--
a hide, a pelt, a protective layering,
a scorched crust,
and razor-blade-sharp teeth
that are made to pierce prey--
and they will hurt you.
And you will shake your head
(as most do)
at the injustice,
and there will be rage
because you’ll unbox the rage
you have tucked neatly in the corner,
in case of emergencies, and this is just that.
And the wounded kid will lose
against rage and they will go wandering down
the alleyway and they will cause chaos
in bars, grief at parties, loathing on street-corners,
and strangers will cry “Danger, danger, a dragon!”
and it will be a headline.
And they will be chased
by mobs and they will leave stains
on the concrete, shredded flesh and fresh
blood from where they have been cut,
and they will seek refuge
behind a dumpster, beneath a bridge,
tonguing their sore, their pain,
the pain you buried inside them,
and they will crawl begrudgingly to the faucet—
the river, the pond, the creek,
because it is parched,
because it is dying,
with an insatiable hunger
appearing as coldness,
thorns and needles everywhere.
And the police will catch it
and it will surrender its wrists
and it will wail about abuse
and it will be pulled apart
and its heart will be harvested for dinner.
And all will sigh with relief,
“Good thing that’s settled!”
And its corpse will contaminate the water,
and the water will drip from your faucet.
Alisia (Allie) Sanchez is a student at Cal Poly Humboldt studying English. Originally from Humboldt County, she is heavily inspired by her love of nature and community. Allie has been published in Spectrum, The Curious Nothing, and the PVLD Anthology. She hopes to continue honing her craft and learning from those around her.
