theshortfriend

When the sons come for me, do not say you are surprised,

For I have taken a vow of pain

Hand flat-placed, an oath, a promise

To fight with pen and soliloquy.

For what is anguish?

It was the night when the battle turned.

The speaker sat back

There was gas in their eyes and hatred,

Blackened like needles,

Though dirty still,

And twice as sharp,

When my father cries,

He sticks his lip out,

Like a kid,

His jaw shaking,

Eyes red.

He cries when a truth is told;

Someone’s leaving,

The end is near,

Or a fault is exposed,

Guilty

I love the you that you are when you are alone, 

The you that you are when you’re at home, 

When you look with soft eyes at the cat, 

The you that you are when you step onto the doormat. 

Every day,
I’ll act like it’s the end.
As if it’s the last time I’ll speak to you.
I’ll write down each thing you say.
I’ll keep every circus ticket in a little book.