A punch in the mouth is:
teeth,
tongue,
the sentence arriving before the person,
a lip learning consequence,
breakfast after honesty,
your mother saying,
well, what did you expect,
the dentist asking if you grind at night,
and you saying,
only my soul.
A punch in the mouth is:
the word “actually,”
said by someone younger than you,
a mirror in public lighting,
a birthday card with too much handwriting,
a white shirt at a red wine event,
and the slow discovery
that your mysterious phase
was just poor communication
with better shoes.
A punch in the mouth is:
“just circling back,”
“as discussed,”
“kind reminder,”
“quick question,”
and the tiny violence
of someone writing
“hope this finds you well”
when clearly
it has found you
in pieces.
A punch in the mouth is:
a therapist calling it progress,
HR calling it alignment,
your ex calling it growth,
your bank calling it
a lifestyle choice,
and your body calling it
Tuesday.
A punch in the mouth is:
love, sometimes,
but not the pretty kind,
not violins,
not soft lighting,
not two people becoming one,
which always sounded
like a tax problem anyway,
but the kind of love
that corrects your grammar
and teaches your mouth
to stop making promises
your body cannot keep.
A punch in the mouth is:
the poem you over-explained,
the metaphor that reported you,
the audience coughing
exactly where your heart was,
the microphone waiting
like a small black judge,
and the first laugh
saving your life
by ruining your seriousness.
A punch in the mouth is:
the thing you finally say,
the thing you cannot unsay,
the apology already bleeding,
the silence afterwards
checking the room,
the mouth,
innocent,
the opinions,
planted.
A punch in the mouth is:
all of this,
listed here
for insurance purposes,
minor impacts,
daily corrections,
romantic concussions,
administrative bruises,
and the occasional grace
of being hit
so precisely
you finally know
where you are.
