Shots from the Family Album

1 August 2012

You,
playing slow burning dirty
blues with a matchstick
plectrum. A pouch of
Champion Ruby
and a tallie at your
knee.

You again,
sharking pool
black quiff, brown skin and cold
stare. One eye on the kitty
to pay the power bill.

Here you are,
shirtless, lean
smelling of fresh sweat and petrol
mowing our yard while I hang
from your back licking salt
crystals as they dry in the sun

and here,
Father’s Day morning, still
drunk from a poker game, one eye the colour
of steak, unwrapping the present I’d
made you, with somebody else’s
blood on your knuckles.

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