If a smile held against its will can ransom Serotonin from a stingy brain, surely the forced self-embrace of a straitjacket can stir up some old fondness for the body. I will reserve a rubber room and invite gravity to do its worst, I will amend my search from painless to least painfulmethods, I will drive nine hours to pour water on a beached whale. Best part of working dead-end jobs: name tag sometimes stabs you, chest or thumbpad, as it gnashes through your uniform. How does the shirt emerge unwounded once the pin slips out, only to be pierced again next morning? I read it’s best to elevate a break above heart-level and I haven’t stopped cartwheeling since, which looks like happiness, because it is.
Josh Myers is from Heidelberg, Germany. His poems have appeared, or are forthcoming, in Copper Nickel, Missouri Review, Poetry Northwest, Nashville Review, American Literary Review, Ninth Letter, Quarterly West, and elsewhere. He's an editor for Quiddity and Toad, and just started law school in Nashville.