Before it got really bad

Before it got really bad

Dad used to be

chewing gum

visceral spearmint

in memory

 

he used to be pockets

of shiny quarters

a jacket sleeve

proffered to little hands

when crossing

the street

 

he used to be

feeding ducks

bits of bread

in the park

 

Dad was

a cheeky Puck’s grin

the ever-prankster

 

But when it got really bad

he was whiskey

Crown Royal bottles

lining the far kitchen

wall

 

he was a shadow

formed first

in the furrow of his brows

 

he was the dining table

upturned,

cracked flower trimmed

plates

and unrelenting

storm

 

a pocket

Of bruised fists

matching

mom’s bruised eyes

 

Dad was his head

in his hands

 

Dad was a wide back

turned

away

 

But if it gets better

I hope he can

be how he was

 

when I loved him

best

his slow suicide

see how he crumbles

into dust, this man made 

of stone

 

see the years erode his face,

wearing away

his show of strength

 

until he is flesh and bone

just like the rest

of us

 

who knew

more bone; flesh having given

way to wine

 

cups and cups of wine; he calls

goblets and guzzles

 

beads of grey sweat 

on his facsimile of skin,

above his quivering lip

beads of wine

 

But he roars still, imagines himself

thunder

when he’s been mouse all along

 

hiding in the holes 

of his childhood memories

 

and then scurrying away from us

Always, this man

running

 

never finding a version

of his life

he can accept

 

and his tears now fall

into the cavity

which used to hold a heart

 

wearing down what is left

until

there’s only chalk outline