When I was a young child
I rode around my parents’ apartment
on a pony stick wishing my mother
vaya con dios until she would ignore me
by hiding in the Herald Tribune puzzle pages.
When I stopped, she would come out of the paper
and resume her normal activities
until I resurfaced in the living room
under the baby grand, which was also the conning tower
of my submarine. I fired a torpedo
sinking a military ship sailing
across our living room. It burst into flames
and scores of screaming people jumped into
the freezing Atlantic with no hope of salvation.
Vincent Bell grew up in NYC and has a BS and MA from NYU and an MBA from Fordham. His poetry has appeared in Pank, The Ravens Perch, Mudfish 21, Offcourse, and The Westchester Review. Vincent lives with his wife in Ardsley, NY. They have two grown children.
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