Three Poems from Max Thrax

Max Thrax, Poetry

Max Thrax lives in Boston, MA. His stories and poetry have appeared in Bristol Noir, Shotgun Honey, and Versification. Find him online at and on Twitter @ThraxMaximilian.


Francesco said

Dead men don’t fight back

And he bloodied the street

With Della Croce heirs

In the mountains

Rain never dries

Snow never tires 

And the living wait

To reblood the valley


When the bomb exploded

I had just

Finished my coffee

Stood up at the bar

A woman in green

Clutched her daughter

Tried to hide her

Under her hair

I never crossed the road

I assure you

I never saw the bodies

The week before

I saw two young men

Roaming the streets

Around the Duomo

One wore a sneer

The other a jacket

With a patch

Fossa dei Leoni

I did not meet 

Their eyes

For they seemed more lion

Than human


You trot forward

And canter back

One ball hits the crossbar

One finds the touchline

Keep moving

Knees give

Stomach heaves

And wants to give

Even more

Your face is ancient

The skull

Of the oldest horse

In the world

More sockets than eyes

More blindness than vision

More vision than the first horse

Who slipped its blinders

And ran

And found there were no markings

No painted lines

In the meadow