Days? No. Good minutes, at best.

When we still spoke
my dad used to tell me
that growing up
he dreamed of being
six-foot-two
like the State Troopers
back then.
Needless to say
he made it
while I, of course
fell two inches short.

Was that reason enough, Chaz?

Every six months I ride by
his house, but the car
is never there
and the paint is always peeling
though I'm sure he doesn't care
what the neighbors think
as long as God is still smiling down
upon the little lie of a life he's created.

I was a bill you paid for eleven years
you fucking coward.
At least I had the decency to run...



In my recurring nightmares I beg
for second chances.
Was it Lyn or Lynn?
That's the one thing I've forgotten.