Silent Hill
The first time that I pissed myself
I sat at my desk in the dark
at Oakmont Elementary.
We were small and unimportant
as people; we were portable
building number-one in the back,
kenneled like six-year-olds. Half-wild
the teacher warned us: No talking
during quiet time! (No reason
ever good enough for leaving.)
I’ve always been afraid of god
and felt shame before I knew it:
wet with horror. Another boy
approached the teacher in whispers
then led me out, calm as a fact—
a boy I had imagined cruel
(who was later cruel) and even
he was not without compassion,
while other children slept as well
as they could on the classroom floor.
Dr. Mario
I’ve got a job I don’t go to
the doctor and I have many
issues like a comic the punch
line my body my heart or else
my hand is tender for a man
my mind is adequate this dick
I rarely use as much as some
do I think too often of hurt
the old me worries only when
I think of you the fear of death
is my greatest feature troubled
with doubt I hope I gave enough
to you the snippets of pleasure
there are so few I wouldn’t fuck
for world peace sadly there’s no pill
for that the doctor spoke looking
somewhere I want to be breathing
in the future there are three types
of sickness red blue and yellow
like an old american flag
Michael Marberry’s poems have previously appeared in journals like The Believer, The New Republic, Guernica, DIAGRAM, Waxwing, and elsewhere and in anthologies like The Pushcart Prize Anthology, Best of the Net, and Verse Daily. He’s originally from rural Tennessee.