Scrying through steepled finger windows to prop her
head, the future’s hairy eyeball leers back. Resolve weakens.
Since his headlong ripping emergence from the opening
between her bloody legs, she has grasped his fingers to slow
his momentum. Now he escapes elementary concerns.Time he stood
out from behind armored skirts, his choices no longer to her credit
Sometimes seemingly innocently we stand band and watch bastard
children dragged screaming into this world. Hold ours closer, grandparents slip secret cash,
gifts we pretend not to notice . Helicopter and hover hope they never need to recover
rescue before danger comes too near. But do we disservice? Would
everything still be alright if we released white knuckled grips? Closing
down those thoughts returning to protecting we cut to the quick
Grind time: a mortar of pasty ambition. Playtime credit
a rain check Not now baby, Mama’s gotta buy you. Proper
hair clothes down to toes lacking no thing while he stood
in the margins watching Mama toil rage and weaken
for his lonely benefit. Waving empty arms signaling to slow
down. Waiting to beg a meager moment, never finding the opening
He. He is not her. He is only father. Nervous awaiting quickening
devotedly dependable he waits. Hand and foot. Still, she bastards
him. Screams at what he’s done to her. Forty weeks closing
tightening into a lifetime bond. Man and wife and child cash
in sick days vacation days, stay home help out hold daugther close. Wooden
dresser freshly painted pink for newest addition. Mother aches to recover
Scattering coins of affection well wishing, a kiss, a cup of coffee at day’s opening
secret smiles of promise for day’s end. One misspoken word and you forfeit all credit.
Slow.
Walls and trust can be mended cracks plastered over when sealed as proper
become stronger than before. Strength only comes to those who weaken
only the unbending become bowed when mowed over by what was misunderstood.
Zoom in spectate snag snapshots attempt to recover
sidelined time. Soccer ballet howwasyourday home work quick
snatches of near interaction. Surface living, wooden
hugs. Parenting? There’s an app for that bastard
supplying appointment reminders, taxi service and cash
with all the warmth of an automatic door closing
It was in the seconds after she arrived that I understood,
we are where we are supposed to have arrived. We open
hearts and at times long closed minds. Knees weakened
when I saw her. It’s her mother that deserves the credit
and I am honored to meet her, to be introduced properly
to hold her hand and tell her life goes by fast but you can grow slow
Thumb pressed by puckered lips, long-lashed eyes lightly closing
blonde curls twine through heart chambers. Clench then try to recover
composure, undone by cuddles and the big eye. Cashed
in sleep for snuggles, tears that burn, cries that cut the quick
Strapped to wakefulness by anxiety’s barbs, pity the bastards
slumbering in their solitary beds as only the carefree would.
Ancient titanic laws of man so newly iceberged are slow
to sink into memory. Hundreds of centuries they have stood.
Now listen as clergy speak, for they know the one pure proper
way all humanity must live and hard as I try my mind won’t open
enough to untangle useless reasons and understand how to credit
modern men sternly scream children must be born and then refuse to protect the weak
Constant cynical contact causes cataracts. Her face: cracked wood
begrimed by rough hands, a layer of adolescent angst closing
her off from affection. Unprescribed antidote, down that bastard.
Sixteen and seizing in a vomit strewn final solution.Just breathe. Recover
wits as parents peer in cavernous eyes, searching for their baby. Quick
monitor beeps indicate she won’t be leaving chips uncashed.
Guilt creeps snuck out for a pair of weekend
beers. Oxygen mask day realize we are slow
to accept perfect humanity and credit
ourselves. Let our best be good enough misunderstood
think passing perfection to children never opening
accepting our truths thinking this somehow proper
The wood lies dark, the path unrecovered, tempting us to weaken where we stood
closing the last chapter slow to begin the next quick to regret a dishonest opening
too many bastards to my credit not enough cash in this world for me to make my kids act proper
