“It left its boot mark on me at an early age, an age
When only the lipstick of loving admirers should have
Spotted my face”
To signify his disdain for my moments of wandering mind,
With sergeants volume he’d bellow hello
Lingering on the O till its lasso hauled me back to the table.
From atop the daily paper determined eyes bear down,
Shrewd tools of silent power. Far from the look given
When my pale faced mother presented him
A fair haired, wrinkle skinned reason to stay.
Two days later she died, a rupture in the womb,
We never met with our skin, just with the haze in our eyes.
From first hold it was always going to be a struggle
Stern and unnatural I screamed till I slept-
Nine months of waiting, the crib overused for its purpose.
How else to raise a son but by the book
Dinner and maths, evenings of demanded silence
Breakfast and Biology. Love shimmers in the dullest of places?
Can the slap of a slipper translate as concern, all young
Minds are balloon full of hope, he never had nipples,
How could he ever compete? Whiskey for some is danger
I only have praise for the stuff. There is pleasure in
Pain, eight shots down, we became equals, comrades
Of a cruel blow. Watching cartoons, cuddling silently
Ruffling my hair. Till morning bullied its light through
Worn curtains, shattering the equality of suffering
Slamming it upon the breakfast table, spilling it upon my lap.
Inocence
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment