Fathers & Sons

Fathers

Deteriorating memories.

Raw fragments of his face,

the denim jacket from the creased picture

the stubble that she called sharp, between blushes.

-

The rotting frame we set him in

may as well be out at sea

where the waves and wind would carry the body

to better places in the distance.

-

Maybe his grass can grow greener

a thousand miles from my corrosion.

-

Shortened hair, sunglasses

hundred mile an hour rides,

over the limit while over the limit.

The stolen car he missed, and gave me a piece of.

-

The races run searching for peace,

which never did find his mind.

-

A fan thrown

across the room,

shattered, by the wall.

-

I look in the mirror

to see how I’ve changed

but I am gone, and his face

stares back. A ghost.

-

Sons

Start the day mad,

nudge the anger to its breaking point,

a braking distance, car speeding

he couldn’t be prouder.

-

Hardening the sensitive spots

and aggravating callouses.

-

They look away in the streets,

the tribe recognised

and vitriolic. A uniform we wear,

regardless of our clothing.

-

When I pass your house

in search of warmth,

the door is closed

and every light is off.

-

A camouflage with tonight’s sky,

only burning buildings giving

a dim light to these dirt pathways.