Sam Campanella

You Never Got Me at All
A tire-marked dirge

You think you know punch-drunk? I'll tell you what punch-drunk is.

7am this morning I throw my uniform on, take a look in the mirror, and walk out the door. Take no more than five steps forward. Air feels different. Look over my shoulder... motherfucker's waitin’ for me right on my porch. I take two steps back.

"What do you want?" I says, hopin’ he scurries off.  He never does. 

"At this point," he says, "laws just ain't no good. Your daddy fought it. He was weak." He's walkin’ towards me. He was limpin’ like crazy, and I knew why by his breath. "This town ate you alive, man. Look at you. Five-foot-nothin’, walkin’ around cold-cocked like you own the place. It ate you alive. It chewed your dirty ass up and spat you back out, and you landed face first on the dirt…”

I am ready to keep trailin’ on forward like the mad sumbitch never showed up. But he doesn’t stop.

“I know what it's like to snap the chains that tied me to my past. You never needed to.”

“The fuck you think I am?” I says.

“You work every day to make sure your little reputation ain't tainted. I work every day to make sure my brain don't give up on my heart yet. I know nothing but how to force down a meal, tie my shoes, and keep walkin’. You don't know dick about shit. You don't know what freedom is, and you never will."

Freedom? My hand was hurtin’, but his teeth was hurtin’ worse.

Sam Campanella is a New Hampshire-based writer and vegetable chef, best known for his regionally-renowned word salads.