My father has

Plagued this

Earth for 80

Years now.

Lying, whoring,

Driving away

Everyone he

Claimed to

Love with

His selfish,

Petty, sadistic

Ways. To this

Late day

He calls and

Invites his

Grown

Kids over.

Then before

We can even

Sit, he lights

Up and blows

Cancer stick

Smoke into

Our faces.

Still, he’s

Creeping

Up on the

Grave, so

For a while

I made an

Effort and

Visited him.

The last time

He stood there

In his boxers,

In his kitchen,

Puffing cancer

Into my face,

Then he opened

His voluminous

1980s fridge and

Pointed to a pizza

Box, the only thing

In there, besides a

Carton of milk. The

box held one

Last slice,

The lone leftover

From the pizza I’d

Brought to him and

Shared with him a

Week before. “Hey,

Don’t leave stuff

In my refrigerator,”

He said with his

Gruff, low voice.

Then it hit me.

All week, while

I’d been slaving,

He sat there

Fuming in

His kitchen,

Obsessing on

That pizza box

“Taking up the

Space” in his

Refrigerator.

I thought about

Asking him if

He really wanted

To spend his last

Days that way,

But I’d tried to reach

Him too many times

Over the years. And

The look on his grave

Face told me not to

Even try.

 

— FB

 

 

 

 

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