My dad's an alcoholic
or so says my memory
It's been so long
Faded pictures
featuring a bloated, tattooed man
It seems unreal to say
"That's my dad"
King Neptune blazing across a chest
Dads are supposed to be stiff
and strict
Work at some insurance company
the big guy who stands at the door
in his underwear
threatening every boyfriend with a shotgun
if daddy's girl wasn't home by 11.
But I've never had a real boyfriend
Except if you count Brian.
But he liked needles too.
I think you would've liked each other
Needles and black eyes
smelling like weed
and Camel Straights
He hit my mom
Or so they tell me
I don't remember.
I promised myself I'd never be like him.
Aunts, old friends
Astounded
God-Tracy-you really look like him.
My mom gets the creeps
"Ain't it funny how you have the same mannerisms"
If only they knew
of my apparitions
on a bathroom floor
curled around my own vomit
A trail of empty kegs
leading to me.
I saw his face at the bottom of the toilet.
I know my dad
even though it's been
fifteen years of pictures-
I've spent seven years with his closest friends...
booze, joints, powder...
but never a needle.
Somehow I knew
if I pricked my soul
it would no longer be mine.
Our distant souls
would intertwine.
© 1999 Tracy Jenkins
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