Shyte

“It’s life, you know?  Just… Life…”

the shrug of his shoulders
not quite a man’s
the tilt of his head
not quite a boy’s

“I mean, it happens… It happened… Shit happens…”

it does
              indeed
it does

and it is
             shit
when, at seventeen
your father,
your Father,
                    disintegrates
                    dissolves
                    diseased
beyond any
                      hope
of recognition,
leaving you
                    alone
                    apart
                    separated
by more than
                       just
the red hair,
that red hair,
the red hair
which is
             all
he has left to
you

“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?”’

his milk-hands,
nails bitten to the quick,
clung one to the other
refusing to relinquish their
determined
                     hold
on what
              remained
of his world

“Ok, yeah… I can come back… 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…”

six-feet-three-inches of
Hug me.
             Please.
Hold me.
             Please.
stood slowly,
curling in upon itself,
turning into a softened
hand
         shake
that walked, head
down,
out the door

©s rogers, 9th April 2011