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FINNEGAN'S FATHER.

Posted on September 10, 2010 at 4:19 PM

His father thought women dumb,

Creatures to be exploited and set

Aside like soiled linen. He saw his

Mother spirit broken, take to the

Bottle and her bed, until he came

Home one day and found her in a

Bath with slit wrists, cold dead.

 

He sits and puffs out smoke and

Stares as it rises in an odd pattern

Upwards, then lingers, the cigarette

Held limply between two fingers.

 

Father was never proud of him,

Thought him too weak, too shallow,

Just like your darn mother, he’d say,

No guts, no backbone, no marrow.

 

His words still bite, long after the

Old fuck’s death, long after his final

Words pushed out on his last breath.

 

Both dead now, both equal in death’s

Claim, both ashes beneath ground,

But their spirits, if such they have

Beyond this dark coil, this cynical

Circus, he hopes will find their level.

 

His mother’s spirit looking down on

Him from some lofty noble height,

His father’s spirit icy cold and cruel,

Staring into chasm of the darkest night.

 

 


Categories: Poetry & Lyric, Terry Collett

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