947

I bought my wife rotting fruit
for her morning smoothie

I met a father
that beat his daughter

I met a son
that ran away from his
father’s addictions

I met a boy
not sure of where
his home was

I’ve met women
that cut their legs
and hide from the sun

I knew a man
that was abused as a boy
that had a father
still in the dark

I knew a pastor
that killed himself
on a Sunday

I know mothers that drown
in drink and pills

I know they don’t mean a thing

I forget most of them
in the morning hours

they don’t remember me
I don’t remember them

it’s not pride or regret
or sorrow in my cup

it’s a toddler’s tantrum

let’s cry to the news
pretend our knowledge means a thing
forget we love our own hands
more than anything else

when we’re asked why we’re bitter
we’ll just say
we’re too stupid to be anything else

–

I keep a lot of antlers
on my wall

I keep a lot of scarves
on my neck in the summer

I spend too much time