Fumbling for a Marlboro
Another plea:
“But what if I should hurt him?
You know, I worry-
If the sickness
That was in Dad
Could be in me?”
The flash of a lighter
Illuminated his strain

I assured him:
His son
His baby
Were in safe hands.

You see this cigarette burn on my arm?
It had faded with time

I drowned the memory, too
With recollections of ice cream outings
And stolen games of catch
-Rare as they were

The vinyl record skipped and brought us back.

With a gesture to the door, some cold comfort:
“Come now. You’ll be a fine father…
Now go home-
It’s where you belong.”

Ezy reading is out every month...