My father’s back is a piece of paper and my mother wrote her hunger for family until it rumpled up in a corner,
What if he just wanted to be a boy and play ball or whatever boys do,
What if he just wanted to lick to gun or die like boys do ?
I’m glad he survived and is my father don’t get me wrong.
This is not a bad man poem,
It is about my father’s emptiness
I fear he is all shallow and hallow.
that his body gave way for a kind of silence that rips you...