Hiding Bad Words

by Regis Boff

I have all these bad words in my head. My mother dragged me into our basement when I was little and washed my mouth out with soap for a word I used in front of her. I still have the word and the taste of Ivory soap in my mind after all these years. Names for Italians, Germans, Polish, Blacks, Jews, are all there and still intact. Mind you, I don’t think I am proud of this but I honestly never lay sleepless over it.
I have this week, boarded up the image of the Confederate flag and placed it side by side with the glimpse I sneaked of Amy’s underpants when I was seven, somewhere inside my skull.
My nasty brain has room for even more shit though I am old now. A deep memory is a pleasure in this world of severe touchiness. I like having hiding places; they make for a good night’s sleep.