Shyte (rev)

the original poem is here

“““““““““““““““““““““““““““`

“It’s life, you know?  Just… Life…”            

i could tell it was something he’d
said
many more times than
once

the shrug of his shoulders,
secret and shy
not quite a man’s
tired
resignation

the tilt of his head,
out and up
not quite a boy’s
shameless
curiosity         

“I mean, it happens… It happened… Shit happens… doesn’t it?

it does, yes
indeed
yes, it does

and what else is
it
what else could
it
be but
shit         

when, at seventeen
your father,
your Father,
disintegrates
dissolved and diseased
beyond anyone’s
hope
and you, you are
suddenly You
alone
sequestered and separated
by more than
merely
Red Hair,
that red, red, red hair
which is, you discover,
Father’s
only
bequest

“So, I did some drugs… took some shit…a lot of shit, I guess…  I mean, I had never done that, you know?  I’d never been like that… I was always, well, “The Leader”… always the one they looked up to and shit…  Then all of a sudden I wasn’t… I wasn’t at all… but I didn’t care… I mean, I just didn’t give a damn, you know?”

i know, yes
indeed
yes, i know

his milky hands,
his quick-bitten nails,
clung one to the other
wringing the freckles,
refusing to relinquish
their determined
their frightened
hold
on whatever
remained

Ok, yeah… I can come back… Yeah, maybe it’ll do some good… I don’t know… maybe it won’t… doesn’t matter really, I guess … I mean it’s not like I’ve gotta lotta better shit to do…”        

the jerky laugh
pulled
him upright
and
sixty-three inches of

Please. (maybe) Hug me.
Please. (kind of) Hold me.

stood slowly,  but never
reached its full height,
instead
it curled in upon us both,
flattened
to a handshake
to a headshake
and
walked
silently
out  the door

         

©s rogers, 27th october 2011, all rights reserved

         

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