Brown Jug


United States
42° 38' 42.648" N, 70° 56' 34.0476" W

Brown Jug

Two cars collide,
leaving nothing but aluminum accordions
and the ruins of extra metal.
Burnt rubber clings to the breeze.
6 a.m. and I’m wide awake.
Staring out the window.
It’s Saturday.
Mercedes, brand new of course.
Papa’s ‘92 Grand Marquis.

I find myself outside
cold and in thin thready pajamas,
leaning over a pile of scraps.

Papa returned home from a late night drinking,
still got that whiskey stuck on his breath.
Standing by the ruins,
“I’m so sorry”
But the Mercedes man has already passed.
Pleading and
for forgiveness.
But he will never be forgiven
by the man’s life who he took,
on that dark December morning.

He passes his old car.
“Nothing but a piece of shit now.”
the sirens
wailing from a distance,
but Papa doesn’t wait none,
in his bed and off to sleep.

And how he slept,
I will never understand
With an innocent man’s remembrance
laying outside our house
on this dark December day.

Two cars collide.
Once his lovin’ old friend,
now nothing.
So God please Mama prays,
give Papa one
bright December day.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741