Everyday Conversations
The hostess sits us in his favorite section.
The waitress smiles like the joker,
fake as hell. But not even her grinding jaw
or smell bothers me. Funny thing is, I'm almost confident
this will be a good day for us. Our waitress comes
out of the bathroom again, swallowing
the drip while commenting on everything the beer label already says.
And then he starts talking about his brother. He knows
what this will do to me, us. Please stop-
I can't love a man without a conscience.
What is it about this day that inspires him
to roll around in his past. He's sober...?
I could stay if we...the waitress sets down our drinks...
and...we're off to the fucking races, picking words
from the black corners of his room.
His half-brother that used to have
a motorcycle-used to be a junky.
He's been cut-off ten since but
the family still has plenty to hold onto.
Especially inside the nights the guilt escapes the basement,
and everyone has to look upon it, it is living,
still. He recalls the money and jewelry stolen
from his mother for drugs and destruction.
This solidity will be easier to hide. Now
I'll make him flop like a dead fish, I'll give breathe
to the breathless. "Your brother hates you.
Your father loves you. You are still your fathers favorite.
Do you Not remember telling me what your dad said
to your brother...about Not being his son...?
Of course Not. You told me after six shots of Tequila,
why would you remember." Writhing coward.
I can see his brother sitting on the front steps,
watching Josh and his dad play catch...
Their mother, stepwise, beginning to set up
a bed and some sheets in the basement.
Lunch is over
Poetry by Christin Brennan
Read 1220 times
Written on 2010-04-07 at 00:01
Tags Exboyfriend Relationships
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