top of page
  • Ace Boggess
    • Nov 28, 2022

Pothole

Watch out for it, her father says & she repeats as though it’s a boobytrap placed there by some mayhem artist on a state route along the Elk River. Nearly swallowed my tire, he says. Caused my rearview mirror to fall off. The road is a weapon that cuts itself open. I thank her & her dad for the advice. I’m learning to dodge abysses, weave around emptiness.

 
About the Author

Ace Boggess is author of six books of poetry, including Escape Envy (Brick Road Poetry Press, 2021), I Have Lost the Art of Dreaming It So, and The Prisoners. His writing has appeared in Michigan Quarterly Review, Notre Dame Review, Harvard Review, Mid-American Review, and other journals. An ex-con, he lives in Charleston, West Virginia, where he writes and tries to stay out of trouble.

70 views

Recent Posts

See All

I stepped on a praying mantis yesterday, the act unintentional, irreversible, my apologies sincere, profuse. Can the dead forgive? All that was once inside the worshipper now lay atop the pavement, as

if yellow were a scent it would be this top note of sunshine the first to fade heart note something like basil base note clover, or cedar I forget how I learned this and I couldn’t say why some random

the deepest wounds are caused by those we thought loved us, but only used us instead; those who wasted our time, our love, and our affection— they say not to regret it, but i do; wish i had spent the

bottom of page