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Monday, April 02, 2012

valentine for gail…

She wrote me a love letter once, with a frying pan and a hair brush upside my head. I was a pain in the ass I guess, paying for the crime of existence given to me by her man and another woman, my mother. Guess somebody had to pay for that shit, eh? It doesn’t mean much to an 8 year old, there’s a lot of time left to fix the scars. They’re momentary I suppose. Now, though, I wonder, when she dies, if she’ll be scared that she’ll have to pay for that shit. Other shit too I’m sure, but definitely for that shit. Now that I have kids and my kids have kids and life goes on, I wonder how she lives with herself without hanging herself from her web of lies and deceit and her pristine doll collection and her pussy whipped, worthless catch of a husband. “My father”, or so they say. I’d like to be above it all, here, now, later. Anytime I suppose. I’d like to be bigger than that for my kids. Fact is, I’m not. To be honest, I’d like to be there when the last breath leaves her body like a rat exiting the Titanic as it eats an iceberg, so I could tell her, I won. I never hurt anybody. Never beat them. Never tortured them. Never took pleasure from lording some imaginary, transient power over another being, until now, as I watch that last, clinging breath leave her body. As I watch the eyes glaze. I’d like to say, you lose, but you lost long ago, and only now, when it’s too late, do you realize it. Then I’d like to get a beer. Maybe watch a ball game, and go back about my life like I did before I was forced to know someone like her ever had to exist. Instead, I’ll just write it all here, because it’s healthier, and better, and because I know someday, when my breath leaves me, I can look back and say, fine, I left my demons where they belonged. Not upside some poor kid’s head in a frying pan.