Slug

If you like this poem...

A revised version of it appears in my ebook, Digging to China, available both on Kindle and as a PDF. It will soon be available as a limited edition chap book. To request a PDF or chap book,click here.

I was in eighth grade in 1994. It was after school and we—my girlfriend and fourteen of our closest friends—were in the school office. That’s just what we did after school, waiting for our parents to shuttle us home. We—my girlfriend and I—had been “dating” for six months and we hadn’t yet kissed. At least, not really. She wanted too. I was shy. I noticed our fourteen closest friends were no longer standing with us, but had managed to surround us, forming a menacing circle of pimples, braces and braids. My girlfriend and I stood in this circle, facing each other. She was cute. My parents’ forest green minivan drove by the office window. “Goodbye,” I said to her, ready to be shuttled home. “Goodbye,” said she and we hugged. We’d hugged before. We were quite skilled at hugging. “How about a kiss?” She said. We’d kissed before. On the lips. Only on the lips. I looked at her cherubic face, her rosy cheeks, her full lips, her long curly brown hair. She was smiling and I puckered my lips, waiting for hers. What I encountered instead was a massive slug—slimy and exploratory—in my mouth and all over my face. For eons, this slug—moreover, the shock of this slug—choked me. I frantically fumbled for a way to get it out. Like the menacing circle, death was closing in. Imminent. Finally, it ended-- the invasion of the slug—and my life had been spared, though I wondered briefly if death may have been preferred. The circle was smiling. She was smiling. I was not. My face felt warm and was probably red. I lifted my shirt to my mouth and removed the last of the slug trail from my lips. “I did it wrong,” I said with my head down, as I walked out, a little wiser and full of shame, to greet my parents.

all rights reserved. Copyright Justin W. Price, Dec 22, 2011

Thanks for Reading.

PDXKaraokeGuy, also known as Justin W. Price, is the managing editor at eFiction horror. Husband to Andrea, father to two dogs. writer.poet.baseball fan. tattooed. He is am amateur theologian with a rabid sweet tooth. He resides in a suburb of Portland, Oregon.He has a poetry book available for Amazon Kindle, and also maintains a blog, FirstBlog. His work has been featured in the Crisis Chronicles, efiction Magazine, The Hellroaring Review, the Bellwether Review, eFiction Humor, and the Rusty Nail. Please visit his profile page for more information. Thanks!