Look down on your hammer.
You had it for a short time but your fingers are still thick
Your larynx not as dumb as you’d like it to be
Your tongue is dry and your breath wheezes
And there, daddy, at the root of your maw
the steel rod stays planted, because evil has made you.
If your shame and your evil still lives
they will stay anchored in your hammer.
And the stones and gravel that are forever with you,
they too are forever free
The wind through your brown hair
gives me a heart attack, your moustache
makes me sick.
In my muddled mind, I know Daddy, you can lie back now,
and the voices can no longer say that you are a jackal.
Nor the soot from your fire has any further stain.
When a rat that’s always wanted to be a man
did your name for the jackrabbit kill itself?
That which nature didn’t know what you were.
And I think if I’m a golem, it must be too good
to be true.
Father Knows Best.
I’ve seen your work with my own eyes but I always
thought it’d be in movies.
In the bargain basement at Rite Aid
dies every day with your family.
Father Knows Best.
The Kids in the Hall once made fun of you.
Father Knows Best
The Archies had the Grand Finale
where all the songs in one strip,
didn’t make any sense.
Father Knows Best
When you didn’t send your son to college,
he wore a bucket on his head, and became
the world’s greatest magician.
Father Knows Best
You always said, “The car needs fixing, son”
So you fix it, but it still doesn’t run right.
Father Knows Best
You put up with Lola until she got an eye disease.
You let everyone live in your house.
You couldn’t keep me away from rock ‘n’ roll.
And now you are dead.
:: 04.11.2022 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 