Not the Arms

Sitting at my keyboard, I look down at my arms;
They’re not the arms of a teenager,
Nor are they the arms of a little boy.

Somewhere in between my second and third
Novel the scars and tissue sheathing my radius
And ulnas became worn and weathered over.

Brown moles and thick hairs pock my flesh
Doing their worst to cover bulging veins and cracked skin.

The slice on my left arm where I cut myself with a butcher knife
Still smiles mischievously up at me.

The burn mark from the marijuana pipe
I had in college has almost completely faded.

The bumpy remains of IVs inserted
During multiple hospital visits remind me I’m impermanent.

Sitting at my keyboard,
These are not the arms of a teenager,
And far from the arms of a little boy.

And tomorrow they’ll shed new.

—Chad W. Lutz


BIO: Chad W. Lutz was born in Akron, Ohio, in 1986 and raised in the neighboring suburb of Stow. A 2008 graduate of Kent State University’s English program, his writing has been featured in Kind of a Hurricane Press, Haunted Waters Press, and Sheepshead Review. Chad still balls hard in his hometown of Stow and currently works in North Canton writing content for an online job resource site. He also manages an online magazine called Chad runs competitively and won the Lake Wobegon Marathon in May 2015, setting the course record by nearly three minutes in a time of 2:33:59. He aspires to qualify for the Olympic Trials.