Spilling

by grey wolfe lajoie

This morning, driving to work I thought I saw my father Hobbling down the road Fading through fresh fog With long wild hairs

He stood there a while A drunken wobble Monster’s eyes Details worn away by decades Like an old grey statue Staring at me

Only the pigeons Are allowed to know him To feel his concrete skin To cover him in their shit

I want to get out at the intersection Ask the statue where he’s been, If he could give me some advice I have this problem, you understand

Instead, my skin starts to wilt and I scream

Maybe if I close my eyes And close my throat and close my nose And put my hands by my sides Then I could listen to her She asks “do you have any songs That remind you of him” I say yes and sometimes I get drunk And yell them at strangers And she laughs

All I want is to kneel in the shower Spoon her conscience, taste her intuition But sometimes she’s the one on the ground And she has to get on her knees In front of an altar And look for something Rock back and forth While the litany rolls through her What do you think of that? I think I think I think enlightenment is an orgasm? We are both dizzy with inexperience Sweet and shallow People watching With dirty fingernails

Sometimes she has to smoke, dad And it smells just like you.