Collateral Damage Report, Revisited (eBook, ePUB)
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Poet and humorist Michael Pollick's collection Collateral Damage Report was first published 30 years ago, and many of the individual pieces have been published in literary magazines such as Miller's Pond, The Iconoclast, Midwest Poetry Review, and MOSAIC. As an experiment, Pollick asked a young poet named Elliot Kent to use his original titles and one-sentence prompts to reimagine the Collateral Damage Report for a new audience. This collection is the result of that collaboration. Kent did not read the original works before creating his own interpretations, but Pollick was surprised (and delig...
Poet and humorist Michael Pollick's collection Collateral Damage Report was first published 30 years ago, and many of the individual pieces have been published in literary magazines such as Miller's Pond, The Iconoclast, Midwest Poetry Review, and MOSAIC. As an experiment, Pollick asked a young poet named Elliot Kent to use his original titles and one-sentence prompts to reimagine the Collateral Damage Report for a new audience. This collection is the result of that collaboration. Kent did not read the original works before creating his own interpretations, but Pollick was surprised (and delighted) to see many similarities in their approaches.
Surprise Makeover by Elliot Kent
I stand here, under the bright lights,
the camera's gaze like a thousand eyes,
and I feel the weight of my past, heavy as a stone,
pressing down on my chest.
They call it a makeover, a transformation,
but I wonder if they know the layers I wear,
the scars etched beneath my skin, invisible to the world.
I was once a shadow, a whisper in my own life,
silenced by the echoes of anger that filled my home,
the bruises that painted my skin in shades of despair.
But today, today is different. The laughter of the hosts dances around me,
a melody I've forgotten, and I'm wrapped in the warmth of their smiles,
their kindness like a balm on wounds I thought would never heal.
They ask me about my story, and I hesitate,
the words caught in my throat like thorns.
I want to tell them about the nights spent hiding,
the fear that wrapped around me like a shroud,
but instead, I nod, and they lead me to the chair,
a throne of possibility.
The makeup brushes glide over my skin, soft and gentle,
as if they understand the fragility of my spirit.
Each stroke feels like a whisper of hope,
a promise that I can be more than what I was.
The mirror reflects a stranger,
yet there's a flicker of something familiar,
a spark of resilience buried deep within.
As they transform my exterior,
I realize it's not just about the lipstick or the hair;
it's about reclaiming my narrative,
rewriting the story that once belonged to someone else.
I smile, a hesitant curve of my lips, and for the first time,
I see a glimpse of the woman I can become,
rising from the ashes of my past,
ready to embrace the light.
Surprise Makeover by Elliot Kent
I stand here, under the bright lights,
the camera's gaze like a thousand eyes,
and I feel the weight of my past, heavy as a stone,
pressing down on my chest.
They call it a makeover, a transformation,
but I wonder if they know the layers I wear,
the scars etched beneath my skin, invisible to the world.
I was once a shadow, a whisper in my own life,
silenced by the echoes of anger that filled my home,
the bruises that painted my skin in shades of despair.
But today, today is different. The laughter of the hosts dances around me,
a melody I've forgotten, and I'm wrapped in the warmth of their smiles,
their kindness like a balm on wounds I thought would never heal.
They ask me about my story, and I hesitate,
the words caught in my throat like thorns.
I want to tell them about the nights spent hiding,
the fear that wrapped around me like a shroud,
but instead, I nod, and they lead me to the chair,
a throne of possibility.
The makeup brushes glide over my skin, soft and gentle,
as if they understand the fragility of my spirit.
Each stroke feels like a whisper of hope,
a promise that I can be more than what I was.
The mirror reflects a stranger,
yet there's a flicker of something familiar,
a spark of resilience buried deep within.
As they transform my exterior,
I realize it's not just about the lipstick or the hair;
it's about reclaiming my narrative,
rewriting the story that once belonged to someone else.
I smile, a hesitant curve of my lips, and for the first time,
I see a glimpse of the woman I can become,
rising from the ashes of my past,
ready to embrace the light.
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