The Boy The Man Was

He sat in the back with his sisters, in reacharound reach of his dad’s right arm,

his feet on the seat to make room for the cooler.

In a Winston fog he dreamed of the day

he’d have his own car to drive and his own son to inconvenience.

Sweet Jesus Mercy.

Success.

2 Responses to “The Boy The Man Was”

  1. i like that you’re posting more.
    And it’s all wonderful, emotive- like [redacted].
    My dad had a Mustang and smoked Kools.
    We never wore seatbelts, but slid around the backseat.

    He would put us on his lap sometimes and let me steer.

    What i like about this writing, aside from all of it, is the idea of revenge we all have. Our poor children! when we are children- dream vendetta pinatas.

    i think we both wrote more in our last incarnation, but even then i was never prolific. i’d rather read than write anyday. 😉 i’m looking very forward to reading VENDETTA PINATAS by cA Hughes…!

  2. dissimulacra Says:

    across the fields from yesterday, etc. etc.
    sometimes dylan thomas is just the thing.

    i love that poem. but i suspect that is not a revelation…

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