Sunday, June 19

i used to come home long
after everyone was in bed
sometimes drunk though just as often
only blasted out of my mind on fatigue
and wishful thinking

i'd stand there in the kitchen
reeking of smoke and cheap beer
drinking whatever cold liquid i could find
and usually my dad would come out of my parents' room
stand blinking in the light
and we'd talk in low tones —
there's roast beef in the fridge
he'd say
what'd you guys do tonight?

nothing much i'd answer
which was almost always true

somehow in all those years,
i never once felt judged by my father
though god knows he would have had grounds
(and still don't
though i'm guilty as hell
and most days not worth
the paper i'm printed on).

tags: topics/poem

p1k3 / 2005 / 6 / 19