Upside-Down
by Vincent Joseph Noto


I was young. First jawbreaker.
Not knowing what to do I
swallowed the speckled globe whole.
Couldn’t breathe. Neighbors said I
turned several shades of blue.
Close by, you acted quickly, swept
me from off my feet, grabbed me
by my ankles, dangled me
upside-down—as I had once
emerged upside-down from
inside you, and as we so
often since had headed in opposite
directions—but then you shook
me, kneed me in the back like some
crazed obstetrician, till the obstacle,
gobstopper, rolled out me
and I breathed anew.






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