Lesson in Lockjaw
My grandfather’s jaw is locked into the smoothness of my chin, a mechanism that helps me chew the fat at Christmas, though cramps on a confession that refuses to come when Politics arrives, leaning into Uncle G’s shoulder to whisper like a lover until he’s so incensed with passion that a need manifests into unhinged diatribe on sexuality, a topic of which he knows little, and I can’t help but shift to the left in my seat, wanting to fire back, but know the futility of a gunfight with so few allies in enemy territory.
bam