Routine is
my mother
pounding
vodka every day
of the week
Monotony is
me knowing what
to expect when I
attain the courage
to make an appearance
Notoriety is
my mother being
on a first-name basis
at the liquor store
Emotional trauma
is me subjecting
myself to her
belligerent behavior
Irony is
my mother saying
she’s learned from
her mistakes
Promising it won’t
happen again
only to revert back
to all of the above
On my way home
As I walk towards my house
I behold an alcoholic
Drinking his daughter’s future
And somewhere at a corner
A cat taking care of its
Newborn kittens.
I start contemplating as usual
As I move ahead
I see a happy family
A responsible father, a caring mother
And a fortunate daughter.
I wish I had such a great family.
It would have been possible
If the drunkard whom I saw
Just few minutes back
Was not my father.
It’s too early for a buzz
but he’s pounding them
down anyway. Again.
Like he always does.
By noon, the driveway
will smell like
burning rubber and
the children will pray
he does not wrap himself
around a tree. Again.