From the Trough
Published in
Oct 30, 2020
Must wash the muck
Away
In this dingy creek that flows
on the way home.
My father —
Shamed —
Works twice as hard
To cover my inheritance.
Wasted.
Promise, promise him labor
As servant not son
To cover some — just some
Of the damage I’ve done.
Who is this
Running this way?
A man,
Shameless,
Exuberant,
Like a silly girl?
