1.
Followed his friends
wherever they went
That’s how he found himself
in the barn that first night
Seig Heils and venom
Impassioned and celebratory
His awe and fear
Why he was chosen first
Branded like cattle
in what was supposed
to feel like belonging
Belief sown into skin
The hairs raise
on the back of his neck
when he notices the forgotten
pulled up sleeve
Customers laugh nervously
Most are never seen again
In recent years, different clientele
Emboldened
They tell him about the new clubhouse
He nods to pacify
knowing what it is
to be a boy looking
for belonging.
2.
Saw them staring
as faded as it is
No question
what it meant
No mental gymnastics required
to pinpoint the Nazi
Sipping an iced latte
just like everyone else
She took his hand
Held his eyes in hers
There was nothing
that could hurt him
in those soft, grey pools
Too often forgotten
Not seeing what it stood for
Just a reminder of a past life
He’d felt the balm of brotherhood
For a time, believed in what was said
Before the only thing he found faith in
was her.
3.
Removed years before
Yet it burnt, itched
beneath his suit and shirt
In every meeting
He anticipated the moment of truth
About the lawyer
Who’d have to answer for the transgression
of his youth
He imagined the leader’s sneer
As he defended one more corner boy
The same thoughts came to him
Reflexive hate honed
Repetitively
Felt the scarred flesh
catch on his shirt
A life of hatred
He’d once thought sacred
The reason he turned down
working their cases.
4.
He remembered every scared face
that had stood shaking in the barn
No need for the confirmation
of their branded arms
He’d seen them walking through town
Faces pointed down
in shameful frowns
It’s been easy
to pick fuckers off
After their fruitless protests
and resigned demonstrations
How he found himself
in this jail cell
thinking on the infidels
wondering which of these incels
will be his tonight.
Scott Cumming unsuspectingly went to see Garden State wearing his Shins tee. He has been published at The Daily Drunk, Punk Noir Magazine, Versification, and Shotgun Honey. His poem, “Blood on Snow”, was voted the best of Outcast Press Poetry Things We Carry issue and nominated for a Pushcart. His collection, A Chapbook About Nothing, will be released in December.
Twitter: @tummidge