Four stone-chips on the window. A man in a far-too-wide pair of shorts stares at me from the other side of the aisle. Shame he doesn’t know how many of his kind I keep domesticated under my tongue.
On his way out, he rubs his dangling balls against my hip and whisper under ragged breath
Funny how everything just up and disappears behind that word.
Credibility and potential and spirit, all melting like sugar into his shallow cup of beautiful
sweetening the taste, but diluting the substance.
I now think of God as I thought of my father,
vital to my existence, useless to me now
a spineless coward who ran away the first time he caught me in bed with a man
has a bunch of bastard children, doesn’t care for any of them
dipped them in vinegar and called them beautiful
then closed the lid and never…
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