There he is again
Bellowing my name, so loud, so clear,
Fuming in that way that rips the spine from my back.
What did I do now?
What does he want this time?
Why is he always so painfully angry?
No one else hears,
that timbre in his voice,
that crack of the whip, that fury.
I stir in my chair,
Finish another dusty bottle,
Counting the years since he’s passed.
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