A Man Worn Down

A Man Worn Down

My father started getting wrinkles around the age of forty.

His eyebrows started to become blonde (not quite grey yet),

His dark brown hair, now filled with grey streaks,

This endlessly tired expression he has even when he smiles at me.

Papa, you work too hard.

After 5:00 pm, he comes home to eat dinner and then sleep.

Papa, what do you like to do as a hobby? Surely shopping can’t be the only thing.

Papa, when is the last time you took a vacation?

Papa, when did those whiskey bottles start to appear on the kitchen bar counter?

We got into an argument while you were drunk.

We didn’t speak for two days.

Your favorite child,

The only one who recognizes that you are drowning,

You felt betrayed when she lashed at you and defended her mama.

You went outside and broke your glass.

The whiskey bottle was half empty.

Mama was worried that the neighbors were going to hear you

As she was cleaning up your mess

You say, “Who gives a damn if they hear me!”

Even in Japan and in Virginia,

There was never a day that went by where you did not speak to me.

There was not a day where something I said fueled this unquenchable rage.

Holes punched in walls, sleeping at train stations until the first train came,

Drunkenly going to the beach with no purpose, Mama in a chokehold.

There was never a day where you took your anger out on me.

Until now.

But it’s okay.

I forgive you.