Will Vincent


Sam drowns him
in the slop
sink. I hold
to his bat ears
and smell him melt.
We bury him
down by the wood
at the bottom
of the sandbox
pile on oak leaves,
pine needles, small
tractors, and action
figures rusted
at joint and hinge.
We get plywood,
two-by-fours, and cinder
blocks—step back
and admire
our mound.
We can’t even see
the sand, but we can
still hear him.
That little shitty fuckhead,
Sam says. He says he’s gonna kill us.
So, we kick
the blocks and
wood aside,
pull him out,
and cut him open—
to get at the stuffing.
I tie a bucket
to a string
and toss him in.
His arms are just
dirty grey cloth hanging
from his chest.
We take him out back.
Sam lifts the dome
off a sewage well.
We lower him
in, pull him back up,
wash him off
pop his head out
and chuck it
into the croplands.
We bury
the rest of him
across the road
where we’re not supposed to go.
But, we can still
hear him.
He is alive.


Will Vincent is a poet and a student in the MFA program at Sarah Lawrence College. His poems have appeared in Inlandia, Scythe, Word Magazine, the Matchbook Story shortlist, and Chinquapin Magazine. His poem “Tree Fort” was the winner of the inaugural UCSC broadside contest in 2010. He currently resides in Yonkers, NY.