Your Dad

By Kyle   

oh gotdammit mom

i sent the letter forever ago. when will it get here?

i used a stamp like i was sposta and everything

and it's not like it's going THAT far.

watch your damn mouth. you're not allowed

to speak to me like that. how am i supposed to know

when you'll get an answer? i just live here.

and letters get lost, you know. never quite get where they're going

end up forgotten or destroyed somewhere

on the side of main street by the only store in town

up the canyon a little ways by the dump

under the overpass by the farm roads, covered in mud

from those damn trucks everyone drives back there.

does he even want to write back? people text now, mom

or call, or facetime. if he wantssa talk so damn bad

he could literally just do that.


i am not your father's keeper

but if i was this would be easy. i don't know

why the phone never rings, but i do know about his dresser drawers

still full of adderall and t shirts he wore once and forgot about

faded pants so worn the crotches have holes

even though i bought them for him and sewed them up twice

on top of belts stretched so far it's a wonder they lived this long

i'm stretched too, you know. limbs too long to be delicate

and they aren't crazy useful, either, that's for sure

so why are you asking me? i've already given ya what i got.

don't look at me like that

sorry, sorry! i just wish he would answer

because even if he said no

it would be something

yeah tell me about it babe

you think he wants to talk to me? ha. that's cute.

i've tried but sometimes ya just gotta let it go

like when your dad yelled till he couldn't anymore

cause the puppy he wanted

chewed up his favorite pair of sandals

the ones that slide right on your feet. sure they were nice

but it wasn't my fault he can't put shit in the closet

to save his life. being pissed off doesn't do anything

and it never will

especially when it comes to your dad.

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