He says that I’m too sensitive

As our friends cheer on to his venomous jest

It’s just a joke, bud, lighten up (I’m incensed)

It’s not like you’ve gone through it (I have)

They keep laughing, protected from righteous wrath

 

No women tonight, that much is clear

Just six dudes and a keg full of beer

And that makes it ok?

That makes the horrors funny?

 

Funny how much blood dripped down the legs

of my eight year old self as he pulled his pants up

His cousin already walking away (joyful whistle)

Not looking at the broken little boy he left behind

 

I suppose it’s funny how that he tried to wash it all off

For months, sud after sud, and it never went away

Wet, disgusting, filthy, slimy, sinful

His tears washing away with the blood and seed

 

He didn’t touch the bible after that

He didn’t want it contaminated

The father to his son was always forgiving

But the son wouldn’t look him in the eyes

 

Ten years

Ten Years is what it took to call himself his son

A decade of angrily flailing at God

A tempest of the juvenile world

A storm of tears at home

They still jeer

 

Not all of it is raucous

I notice nervousness from some

Maybe some care

But not enough

 

I walk away and drive home

Five friends shorter than I was an hour before