If a Father Be a Thing of Substance
By m glenn
If a Father Be a Thing of Substance My earliest memory is of you At the kitchen table With coffee and a paper. My freshman tragedy is Not you Sitting at that ugly kitchen table. What madness grips a man To die in his son's mind A stinging mental patricide. Honorless seppuku. You have no face till I’m 12. A wispy ghost limb That leaves an itch Where it once was. No bigger than a pinky. You can blame my mother so far Before that ________ Becomes a O Did I ever tell you? I dropped coins in the fountain At the mall for years. Wishing you alive. And here I find you. Fifty dollars in change. Twenty empty years. Two-thousand miles. Still out of reach. Written October 7th, 2001 © on Oct 06 2001 05:49 PM PST 0 • 10
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"If a Father Be a Thing of Substance ..."