sitting in the stroller, you can tell
our father isn't satisfied.
our father isn't satisfied.
Already there's an inward drooping
in the baby’s eyes
that mirrors the slump in father’s face
looking past the child toward something
deep and awful that left its marks on him.
There's nothing wrong about this baby
boy but his father’s dis-esteem ages
that child, runs his life.....
poor health hunts him down
like a lion in the weeds
and then devours him.
and then devours him.
But my brother cleaves to my love,
at times thin as an exclamation mark
but not loving him is just too hard
a pill for me to swallow.
No comments:
Post a Comment