The Moment Leading up to My Dad Chasing Me out of The House with a Machete

by | Aug 11, 2020 | Issue Sixteen, Poetry

Now I am not saying he’s a bad man,

But there was sweat pouring out his eyes,

And he had pennies in the cracks between

His teeth and I wanted them all.

Maybe I have a bad attitude, but

This is a love poem of sorts.

The smell of meth seeping out the pores

Is probably what I’m remembering.

Or, his body, as the start of a song.

Maybe I have a bad memory,

But there was a ghost resting alongside

His body strumming his hair.

This is my first idea of intimacy:

His body strumming his hair.

Maybe I’m telling the story wrong.

His body smelled like pennies,

And the ghosts were everywhere

Waiting on his body to move.

Or, his body, as the start of a song

As he sifts through his come-down.

O, you painful man

And how you ready your weapons.

Now I am not saying he’s a bad man.

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