by Robert E. Petras
A son spends half his life trying to please his father,
the other half trying to piss him off,
my father’s voice swilled inside my head
as I ran my fingers along the scrolled pine
of the outdoor chair he had made for me years before,
dry-rotted beyond repair as did become his body.
Dutiful to myself
I set aflame what my father had crafted
with silvered hands,
trying to fulfill the self-pact
to please my father the short half of my life.
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