Dunk Tank

My whole life
I’ve sat on the perch of a dunk tank.
Feet dangling
toes wrinkled
soaked in chlorinated hose water.
The seat digs into my bones.
I’m surrounded by chain link,
Caged in like an animal.
Cameras are flashing and eyes scrutinize me.
I couldn’t count the thousands of dollars spent
For those three three little bean bags
That everyone buys
To aim at the red target of my fate,
With the mightiest of throws
But each to no avail.
Every day
I brace for the worst
And dodge the hardest of punches
But not today.
With a single from your wallet
And with just one throw
With just the right aim
The suspense releases
And I fall,
Left to sink or swim
In the filthy water
Of your insults and name-calling.

—By Courtney Jackson