By Timothy Matthew Perez
Everyday Father asks for forgiveness from several
deities: Buddha, Ganesha, Jesus, former presidents
Clinton, Nixon and all the Bushes.
Then he swills down half a pint of Jack, sharpens
all his knives, tucks his dog at his feet like a hot water
bottle and closes one eye.
The other day I passed him on the street said, Hey Pops.
He looked right at me, not recognizing the stranger
I have become, said, Don’t call me Pops.
I pointed a hand at him shaped like a gun, said, Bbbbrrrr
you got me dead bang Pops.
Son? He asked. The question hung there: the dirty
truth of our relationship, his little dog trembling
at his heels waiting for the storm.