augury doggerel

Friday, June 27, 2003


I tried and failed to kill my father. His drugs weren't good enough. He woke angry and stayed angry, but he was sleeping, sleeping all day, when I kissed him goodbye.

He was a boy in colonial India, a sailor in the Royal Navy, patient husband, father of a scattered five, high-steel balancer. Now he's a stretch of thin on a bubbling oxygen machine. If he's not dead � no one has called � he clutches in his last hundred pounds and eyes the needle.


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