The Aftermath | Poetry

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The day Stacy exploded

was an ordinary day in fall

more or less

the air crisp and cool

the sun dotting the sky

over the schoolhouse

like a blob of orange marmalade

on a child’s blue jumper.

In the cafeteria

Stacy sat alone

at her table in the corner

staring at the wall

so the other kids

wouldn’t have to see

her big ugly nose

and her tiny breasts

and the hairy birthmark on her cheek

and her Coke-bottle glasses.

Only twelve years old

and already cozy

with the idea of being different

the notion of self-hatred.

With a sad and lonely sigh

she opened her sack lunch

and instead of the usual meal

— a dry bologna sandwich

made in haste

by her alcoholic mother

who beat her once a week

at the trailer park

where the two of them lived in misery —

instead of that

out popped a roach

the size of a man’s thumb.

In the blink of an eye

the repulsive thing

raced up her arm

and into the sleeve of her blouse

where it disappeared from sight

and skittered around her tummy

in ever-frantic circles

it’s spindly legs clawing

against her bare flesh

a primordial knot of horror

filling Stacy’s tummy.

All at once

she jerked up

and screamed bloody murder

yanking off her blouse

her glasses flying

her arms pinwheeling

her body spinning in circles

like a dog chasing its tail

as she tried to sweep

the terrified insect

from her underdeveloped body.

And all of the kids laughed and pointed

especially Bobby Meadows

– whom she immediately suspected

had hidden the roach

in the first place –

he was doubled over

snorting, guffawing

slapping his knees

tears of joy falling from his eyes.

Well, Stacy was crying too

but with different kinds of tears

her skin grew hot

and that horror inside

twisted into a

deep and powerful hatred

and burst open

like an abscessed sore

spewing its wet hot infection

into this stupid world.

Stacy went supernova!

(Nobody knew why.

They said later

her father had worked

at a nuclear facility

although Stacy never knew him.

Like who could keep track of

all the men going in and out

of the trailer door?)

When she did

it sounded like a giant

stomping the earth under its heel

and the school’s walls disintegrated

and ninety-eight mouths were

silenced instantly

the bodies left behind

like little smoking logs

all that lost potential.

Even downtown

houses shook on their beams

and dust and plaster

rained from ceilings

car sirens blared

streetlamps shattered

the air thick with chalky smoke

while birds dropped to the ground

thunk, thunk thunk.

When they found her

in that crater

that used to be the school

dazed and drooling

the clothes singed from her body

her glasses melted

to a slab of metal

that used to be a table

there was

– it was later said –

the faintest smile on her lips.

Anyway, nobody teased her anymore after that.

Copyright © 2023 Robert E. Stahl

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