Rock Man, A Poem by Chris Russell

My neighbor eats rocks from his flowerbed. I wasn’t going to say anything, but one day he offered me one, and I didn’t have much choice. “Oh, no thank you. But thanks for offering.” I said. “You can totally eat rocks if you’re not afraid to lose your teeth. It helps that they are softer rocks like pumice, and you don’t hold back your bite, tearing through the rocks, rather than at them. Like baseball players who swing through the ball, or like martial artists who punch through concrete like butter, there is absolutely nothing to worry about when attempting to eat them, so long as you don’t let their physicality intimidate you,” he said. “That’s interesting,” I said. “It’s very interesting,” he said. “I’m all set. I just ate. Thank you anyway though,” I said. He grabbed the back of my head and tried to force a small handful of them into my mouth. “Don’t resist. It’s harder if you resist,” he said.

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