Kentucky Bourbon

[Guy Fawkes]

They rolled on grassy knolls in the blistering cold
Sung 70s songs in his 94 Chevy suburban
Now reality’s pushed away and put on hold
Stepping on flowers..drinking his booker’s bourbon
Stumbling and watering graves with whiskey sauce
Kissing his wrist wrapped in his mother’s Jesus cross
Seated with intertwined legs watching the plaque
Like a light show, like everything he needs is there
Lying beneath the dirt, trying to call his name
For answers that he cannot figure out on his own
To questions that had meaning that is long gone
Living off his folk tales and his sorrow stories
In a one bedroom apartment downtown
Overcome by ignored knocks on the door
And traces of small feces glued to the floor
The telephone line lay flimsy in the air, disconnected
On top of unopened letters addressed to his name
Years faded away the paint on the wall
But not the situation inside
His children planted seeds
That he never cultivated
An estranged father to an unknown grandfather
He thought of his grandsons, the shape of their faces
Just a coward to face them
He often asked himself, “What’s a man to do without his love”
But what’s a family to do without their father?
A selfish soul hidden beneath a selfish core
And his wife couldn’t have wished for this
His own abandonment, a tragic exile
Finally came a day that would overpower his self pity
It was the day after that they diagnosed him with cancer
The booze fried up his liver & the shame took over
He couldn’t die alone without seeing his kids
Stepping into the walkway to the door
The nerves vibrated his limbs
His hands shaking turning the knob
Thinking of what to say to take back the last decade
Walking out than quickly stepping back in
Grabbing his revolver and putting a hole through his skull
He knew, nothing could take back those years
He could never forgive himself.