April 25

By this age
when I’ve answered the questions
that plagued

my life in its earlier stage;
Who could ever love me?
What kind of house would we maintain?

I put away my rage;
Hatred for things unconquerable
Hostage to anything that didn’t come willingly

I am a better man than my father
who by this age
had left lives lying in the lurch

lying in a crib crying
lying in a foreign country, or two
lying just to find work.

I too’ve committed my sins
and come to think of it, accomplished nothing
so rescind. Better than my father?

I am far worse.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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