TSM 95

Boyo, you haven’t taken off your boots
in a week or brushed your teeth –
my son the Jack of Knives – you stutter Instagram
accounts of theft – how you cut blue
from black out of the night
and hid in the Dunkin Donuts until 3AM
when the police finally were gone,
the color drained from the face of the cashier
because he knew, he knew.

I heart you from safety
where I am not father to the chicken tenders
hardening under your bed –
can’t you manage *both* art and hygiene?
Do you have to put your camera
in my face, the shutter flicking open like the click
of a switchblade, mugging before the lens?
We scuffle about your overdrafts, my insistence
you return the stolen colors in your pocket.

For The Sunday Muse

16 thoughts on “TSM 95

  1. You paint his portrait so clearly I can see him, and the distressing chicken bits under the bed. I can see the pale face of the cashier, too. Wonderful!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh I like this! It reminds me very much of the style of Grover Lewis, whose book made me fall in love with poetry, right down to the use of “boy-o”. The blender mix of the ordinary, like Dunkin Donuts, parental complaints, and metaphysical weirdness has made my morning , quite honestly. So glad you joined us at Sunday Muse!


  3. Great scalpel job on this pic, which has evoked a lot of feelings of unease, I think. I especially liked the way you dealt with this specific visual detail of the photo(which I also felt had to be included in some way in any poem take) “..how you cut blue/from black out of the night…” with the rest of that stanza building, full of menace and justified fear. Really a fine write, and as always when one stumbles on it in the vast scattered poultry feed of the blogosphere, a great pleasure to read.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. The patience in the “safety” gave me goosebumps. That sense of wishing? hoping? that the things you see can be managed, cleared, and then survived.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Very cool, to make this a son and ask “can’t you manage *both* art and hygiene?” That’s a way to distance the fear that he’s gotten something he won’t return, something that threatens the father’s existence. Sharp use of language and image. Mighty poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

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