TW: alcohol

That lets you smoke cigarettes. And sells you alcohol 

Until the sky turns you upside down and your

Face surrenders to the glistening sun at dawn. My father 

Holds his hand out for a last toast but stumbled with his glass; 

Red wine smears the white tablecloth. Drips

Of this memory have stained me. Blurs of men rush to the host seat. He is half 

drunk. His broken English tells me his last straw has broken. 

Before that, he told me his favourite parable

Of a boy who touched the sun out of burning curiosity. 

My father’s empty glass stood where he fell. It glistened

Like an empty halo.