Monsters and Fathers

He speaks like an exploding dictionary,
Picking out the meanest words,
Arranging them
In the worst order.
Prides himself on dumb.
Smart
Is for “college boys.”
And “he ain’t no college boy.”

I can still hear him
Echoing through my mind
Like nails
Scraping against chalkboards.
Reverberating and replaying
In awful pitch.

Timeless.
A tantruming child
In aging skin.
Wasting away
And lonely.
Pushing away everyone
Who cannot bend
To his demand for authority
Without responsibility.

Shouting at walls.
Captivating an audience
Of hallucinogenic mice.
There is no question
That cannot be answered
By violence.
It was his answer
To every question.

He taught me
That God was a weapon.
A means to an end;
Control.
Relinquishing him of all guilt.
“If you don’t like it,
Take it up with God.”

To him,
Everything is evangelical black and white.
The white,
Always the measure of what was right.

I keep him in a cage.
Bind him in chains of
“I will be better than this.”
Speak over his screaming with
Our Fathers,
Hail Marys,
And pleas for grace.
But his face manifests in the mirror.
Reminds me that no matter the binds,
He is never far from the surface.

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About Z.

Poetic pipe and cigar enthusiast rifling through the haunted memories of a not so distant past while openly wrestling with faith and God. A rambling writer with the misguided notion that he has something to say. His only redeeming qualities are his wife and children.
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