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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Personal · #2031171
Very personal.(I'm taking a risk.)Any children of an alcoholic can relate to this.I was.
  Dad('Smokey')
_____________                           

There he was.
In the 'box';
flowers arrayed
in some ersatz symbol of life.
But they just looked grey,
if there at all.

Everyone called him 'Smokey.'
To this day, I don't know why,
or, if told,
have long since forgotten....
go back.....shhhhh....go back...

                                      II
Scene-[child's voice]

Daddy Drunk!
Daddy Mad!
Mommy on  Back,
He pushed  chair over!
Yelling!Yelling!
NO!NO!NO!NO!
And  all my 'armours '
slam into place;

"Here's your CIGARETTES"
I said, in a voice
that didn't seem quite my own.
I handed to her,
hand miles and
miles away........

                                        III

Shock:
dull, electric wall
barely holding back the tears.
And, silly me, swore
I wasn't, just wasn't
going to.

My brother gave a speech,
a sweet, painful eulogy,
and that dark charge,
burnt itself out ;
cathartic, resolved ,
all the pain of our young years.

In its own weird way,
slight magic;
sad, sure,
but transcendent.

Could I have seen
In sunlight,
waving  goodbye,
in the trees,
"Daddy" fly away with angels?

I'm inclined to,
can't and won't believe
anything, anything else:
A haunted, tortured man,
finally found his angels.
                                 
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