I didn't have the water
for the drought of your soul.
I was a bud of you
thirsting from the same vine and
cursing with you the calamity
of the vile injustice of being.

Nature abhors the abomination of imbalance
and you needed me to tell you that you did well
when it was beyond the pale
of a skinny and quiet child
too sensitive for screaming
and leather belts that cracked against
his
spine.

So now you sit in twilight
aging slightly left of center and grace
and I promise to look after your body
and keep four walls for
aging
bones.

I would have loved to hear you were proud
when it mattered
but you always came first,
and you never showed me anything
because no one ever showed you
and the sins of fathers fall undeserved to sons
and the ghost of their failures
will haunt me both now
and
forevermore.