Bar Brawl

Indeed.

I still have the scar

Where you dug

The broken Natty Boh bottle

Into my abdomen.

The skin folds in upon itself

Sometimes

Blooming 

Into a painful red-centered flower

Jagged

With whiter 

Winter petals

Radiating 

When I try to lift weights

Or exercise

Or take out the garbage.

The heat inside

Burning 

From the furnace

Of the devil

As I double over.

Getting it stapled shut

That night in a city hospital

Didn’t help.

I’m convinced to this day

That it only made matters

Worse.

I had plenty of time to think about the incident

As I waited on a gurney

In the Emergency Room.

The outburst 

Was almost immediate.

I didn’t like you

And you didn’t like me.

I hit you first

With good reason

And I hit you hard.

But you still had your beer in hand

And you broke the bottle

“The Land Of Pleasant Living”

Spilling everywhere.

And then my blood.

Today

I can fold and unfold the scar

Like a parcel

Recently delivered

Being careful

Not to tear the paper

Or cut my fingers

Reaching them slowly inside

And massaging

The warm muscle

That a city hospital

Failed to repair

One Baltimore night
Long ago.

I should have let you
Hit me first.