I remember, my friend says, before I was born
some part of my mind turns off as I sip my beer
my mother and father, my friend says, already fought
not fought like you and I did when we were kids
they quarreled, said ugly things, made no sense
then hours after, they'd make up, make love
and sure as hell, love days or weeks
before they fought again
prob'ly how they conceived me
the making up and making love, I mean
then I was born and making up got difficult
I don't know why, I don't remember doing anything
my father would stay gone longer after they fought
and then one night when he was staggerin' drunk
still smelling of another woman, I heard tell
a shadow stepped out of an alley right behind him
and stabbed him sixteen times with a kitchen knife
after the police stopped coming round and asking questions
my mother and I moved to Chicago and life got better
at least for me, I never asked about her
a week after I graduated from high school
she cut both wrists with her old kitchen knife
left me a note that said "don't you take after him none"
I put down my beer, re-thought, then finished it
he shrugged, and we both ordered whiskeys
No comments:
Post a Comment