It is funny teaching my father high school is over.
He comes home drunk and expects me to laugh
At his beer-breath jokes;
I tell him drunkenness disgusts me.
Daddy thinks he’s fun drunk
Yet expects I will never drink
And I hate that he’s probably right,
That he has nothing to worry about
Except maybe beer-breath boys
And beer-breath hands
But Daddy offers no hand when I lend my breath,
It is only me
And the broken and tired women and girls behind me
Nobody is listening—
With the sounds from his own liquor lips
Everyone else goes deaf at the repetition;
We’ve all felt the beer-breath boys before.
Rather, been felt by.