New Poem - Misanthrope

Hey.

Here's a new (new to non-Patreon folk) poem.  Based on a true story.

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MISANTHROPE

About

twenty-six days

before he died

in a suburb

in Idaho,

my grandfather

grew convinced

the neighborhood children

could sniff his senescence

and he took

to sleeping

with a loaded

Colt 45

under his pillow

My taciturn grandmother,

still daily

and for hours

(until her fatal emphysema)

composing her feathery hair,

finally hid

the handgun,

but expired

before sharing the location

So there

we were,

Growing up quickly.

Screening every parcel of

a pre-fab dwelling

(with a toddler inside)

Hoping first to disable

that final

fuck you

Gestured

by a man

whose field of fucks

had grown fallow for decades.

More skeleton and whisky

and cigarette smoke

than heart.