i could not drink the monster’s cup
but i could stand amidst his fury
i would not claim to be a hero
i just like to prove that i won’t fold
the monster lashed out at his daughter
and i thought i’d rather die
than see honesty destroyed over
drunken sunset tired ineffable anger from
her father the big white monster drinking
vodka from a cup
he called it eggnog
i called it vodka milk and icecubes
he looked at me and then he smirked
he should have rapped me once at least
one real fucking good one on my thinker
for i am 5’9 and have the fight of a
newborn baby bird flapping violently
plunging t’wards the parking
lot.
This reminds me of Rothke’s “Papa’s Waltz.”
Had not read it. Astonishingly similar.
Remember us when you’re famous.