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the beat too long, in a bad part
of the city—creased and bitter-
eyed and too early gray. He yells.
Rants. Every once in a while,
he leaves a bruise, no apology.
For my own good, he says, So you
don’t end up like your father.
More than once I’ve heard him try to
blame Trey’s mom for her son turning
out bad. Maureen never understood
that kids need discipline, or they’ll ride
roughshod over you. A good switching
by a loving hand never hurt no one.
Quoted directly from his own father
would be my guess, and the oxymoronic
bite of the statement slipped
his notice completely, right along
with the bigger issue he insists
on ignoring: Maureen left him because
of his own drug habit and the reasons
behind it. The pills he pops like Tic Tacs
are legal. Prescribed to moderate
sleep problems and anger problems
and mood problems that swing him
from suicidal to crazy happy in
the space of a few hours. All I can
say is thank God for modern medicine.
SOMETIMES, WHEN IT’S JUST
Grandfather and me, if he’s downed
the exact right combination
