I was young once. I dug holesThings My Son Should Know After I've Died by Brian Trimboli
near a canal and almost drowned.
I filled notebooks with words
as carefully as a hunter loads his shotgun.
I had a father also, and I came second to an addiction.
I spent a summer swallowing seeds
and nothing ever grew in my stomach.
Every woman I kissed,
I kissed as if I loved her.
My left and right hands were rivals.
After I hit puberty, I was kicked out of my parents’ house
at least twice a year. No matter when you receive this
there was music playing now.
Your grandfather isn’t
my father. I chose to do something with my life
that I knew I could fail at.
I spent my whole life walking
and hid such colorful wings.
Friday, March 20, 2009
But only you can make me happy when I'm sad
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
i love this. you pick out really great poems.
Thanks!
Post a Comment