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all the rage by Henry St Leger

all the rage

anger is a new feeling. it wakes up each morning screaming at the dream it just had.

an alarm whose only volume is an eardrum, pounding its way out of the head, demanding an explanation. a plank of wood on my shoulder that swings into a

cyclist as I turn to give directions. a sheet of glass in the middle of the road

shattering into another, stronger sheet of glass. shattering into an apology. just shattering. I'm still not sure how to be angry, only that I'm doing it. only that I

remember the thud of your fist against the dinner table. the grunt of bone, into

wood, into the floorboards, into the heart buried beneath them. I remember you smiling over the éclairs you brought home, like a deer slung over your shoulder,

the dusting of sugar turning your knuckles white. I throw my hand against the side

of your toolshed, the red brick forcing it into a new shape. a bruise emerging from

the skin like salt water from a man's lungs.

Henry St Leger (he/they) is a poet and journalist based in London, UK. Their work has featured in Poetry London, Magma Poetry, Ambit and Agenda, as well as 'Masculinity: An Anthology of Modern Voices', published through Broken Sleep.


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