My father never drank, But in my fiction he does. He stumbles in and out of scenes, Dumb, violent, in pain. My adult fingers grant my friends courage And they laugh at him– Brave Disrespectful Things.
Such an original image: “I have tried to not write him in,
To erase him from that world,
So I wrote about that kid who lost three toes to a train,
And the rest of us, my brave friends,
Searched for the one toe no one else could find
Until we found it being carried away by ants.”
Such an original image: “I have tried to not write him in,
To erase him from that world,
So I wrote about that kid who lost three toes to a train,
And the rest of us, my brave friends,
Searched for the one toe no one else could find
Until we found it being carried away by ants.”