A Head Through A Window Poem by Jon Edward Walker

It's just like the movies only less blood
my fist held hair as I jerked his head
down and then back again
in a reflexive action,
like playing catch
with a football
while having a conversation with
your old man.
natural, smooth,
like it was meant to be.
and luckily for me and him,
he didn't bleed much,
no eyballs were hanging out,
all we really had was a hole
in my trailer
letting in the 3am january
of Montana.
He wasn't even upset,
he said he deserved it,
we drank a little more,
now I don't even remember why he deserved it.
I drove him home later and
patched up the window
using water heater insulation
and duct tape