**The Nail in the Boot**

**Gin and tonic in hand, I sit,**

**trying to write of love, of life—**

**but his voice, loud and boisterous,**

**shakes the quiet, rattles my mind.**

**A large man. A presence. A weight.**

**The drink takes hold,**

**I’m feeling bold.**

**With my father’s voice behind my tongue,**

**Oi! Ye cunt, keep it down!**

**Some of us are trying to think.**

**He blinks. A pause. A shift in air.**

**I see it now—I’ve started a row.**

**As quick as I stand, he has me,**

**pinned against the wall, a pillar of flesh.**

**But there’s Scotch-Irish blood in me,**

**the fire of a people crushed under boot.**

**I catch his finger, set my roots.**

**Snap. Crack. Squeal.**

**I bite his ear—an orange to be peeled.**

**Blood spills, the violence is fun.**

**And in a breath, he knows.**

**I have won. **

**I am the nail in the boot,**

**sharp, intentional.**

**He steps back,**

**bloody ear in hand,**

**a big man knowing fear—**

**perhaps for the first time.**

**As he walks away,**

**I wait for the lights.**

**The boots. The chains. **

**I embrace my fate.**