Mark My Words

by | Dec 13, 2022 | Issue Thirty, Poetry

You can dump me
in the general waste bin,
or the lost & found box of a hospital.
You can bury me under
a nameless gravestone
at someone’s abandoned
backyard. You can
treat me like a pub toilet,
write dirty words all over
my walls, scrape them,
and vomit on my tired vinyl floor.
I’ll stand tall. I’m used to
standing tall despite the punches,
earthquakes, waves hitting
my face. I got used to
stormy weathers,
salty waters, deep seas,
and I’ll sail away from you
one day, and until then,
you do you, father.

Read more Issue Thirty | Poetry

Pin It on Pinterest