Shots.
Ring through my
head
Pounds on the
wall
Beats on the
street
The door of the
apartment
Slams shut
Bang
My pa walks in
Quarter to 12
“Where were
you” I ask
“Out” he
replies.
“Where, why
why won’t
you tell
your
son.”
“It’s none of
his biz, neither is it
yours”
My pa storms
off to his bed
Bang
Door shut
I go back to my cake
And hope
dream
love
wish
to
get out. Not to turn out like him.
I can’t. Got to get
to college.
Prove him
wrong.
Teach him a bum’s son
who don’t
make nothin
of himself
who would let
himself rot
if it wasn’t for
me.
Who quit high
school
Who beat streets
Who is my
father. Yes that is
he.