You’re too sensitive you’re like a child 

dipping her foot in the North Atlantic

in June when it’s still frigid you allow 

a wave to chase you away and run closer

when it’s safe the sun means too much to you

the sunscreen and sweat in your eyes

 and you are crying you are ruining the vacation

 the sand is too hot for you the delicate drivel

 of sentiment blisters the bottom of your feet

 you take it all to heart and it hurts although

 I will never announce it to the crowd

 like a hundred foot long sign hanging from

 the back of an airplane I’ll keep it tucked away

 beneath the surface of the ocean of my eyes

                           the sharks are in me

 they are moving the sharks are in me they are hunting


Jeffrey Paggi


Jeffrey Paggi is a 40-year-old High School English teacher who lives alone in Highland, New York (although sometimes his 21-year-old son comes to visit him). His work has previously appeared in The Chronogram, Arc of a Cry, and The Cartographer Electric. In the late 2000s, he ran a poetry reading series at The Belmar in Binghamton, New York. He plays guitar in the post-punk band Cold Heaven and is currently working on a manuscript of poetry called Riverwalker

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