YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER
A MANNEQUIN; A DISMEBODIED,
TOOTHY JAW THAT AT
TIMES MOVES UP AND
DOWN TO BITE THE APPLE,
YOUR BRIDE IS IDENTICAL.
PULL AT MY HAIR WHILE
I SIT AT YOUR CLOCKWORK
TABLE, YOUR STRINGS JUMP
UP AND DOWN, BUT YOU ARE
NO ACROBAT. NOT MY FATHER
ACHE FILLS MY PLATE. I SIT
QUIETLY, HANDS FOLDED.
YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER, SO
YOU THINK NOTHING OF IT.
ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING.
ANGRILY SHOT, BUT IT ONLY
HITS MY SIDE LIKE A DULL
BOX CUTTER. YOU ARE NOT
MY FATHER AS VILE BLOOD
RUNS DOWN MY FACE, I
REMAIN SEATED. YOU WILL
NEVER KNOW OR LEARN.
ON THE FIFTH DAY,
GOD MADE MY ANGER.
the military & politics
the misery of inceldom