Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

we killed dad
from our memories
repressed that sack of shit, but
really you obliterated him from our lives
as should be
he was such an ass
beating up mom
forcing her to have sex with strange men
while he watched
and we listened to her
getting pummeled in the next room
i was nine, and you were ten
i was meek
and you were strong
so what if i looked just like him
how was that my fault?
why did you accuse me of that?
i can't help what i look like
but i am not him
i am not him
yes, you were glad when he died young
and was gone
you the fair one
me the dark one
looking just like him
i am glad
you never tried to replace him
and you saved me and mommy
and we were spared
yeah, she tried to jump off that bridge
and, yeah, so she didn't
they put her away
and then it was just me and you
my older brother, i trusted you
my trauma:
when dad knocked you out with a flashlight
you unconscious
bleeding in the backseat
me and my bleeding ten-year-old fighting brother
and a wacked out so-called grown-up dad
driving us on the road
to the the St. Joe state hospital
so he could cause a scene
and fight with the attendents
trying to bring a convalescing mother home
to be abused some more
you did not let that happen
and for that, you made me proud
but i was just a kid
what did i know?
i never told anyone
until now
and i am scared of my scars
still, i am glad
he is so so gone
then it was just you and me and mom
scrounging in the projects
second hand clothes
how we kept fed
i will never know
except i remember
how we lied about our ages
to work in a pizza joint
so we could eat
and help mom with the food dollars
in geometry class, the one i flunked
because i was always asleep
working till 2 to close the shop
staggering home
fuck the homework
what about the real work
teachers never understood
us bringin home left-over pizza to keep
ourselves fed, and and warm and clothed
you were my wonderball
and i looked up to you
yeah, we were glad that asshole was gone
later, growing up, families of our own
he died young at 53, married for the fifth time
and died a drunk, alone,
but now
here i am in my 40s
and i got kids
and where are you?
i have no one to teach me anything
i try
like shouting over the sea
lapping against the holy pebbled streams
leading to the sea
the great big sea that washes over us
i'm not so good at this father thing
and i sure do need your help
every bridge i cross
now, i close my eyes
and i am so alone
yet, you are still my brother
and still we have no father
to ever bring us home
i could use some father lesson help right now
please brutha, please, speak to me
i could use the help