Father's On The Gurney Strangely Quiet

A pile of pale, gray brittle bones

pokes at a tarp of too thin skin

clouded eyes closed

jaw agape

sneering lips loose

dentures jutting out

where insults and threats still

push at his teeth

shiny knuckles balled in a fist

still want to strike

the paper silhouette of a man

I once feared

Hated

I could have loved you, old man.

I wanted a dad who loved me.

I do not thank you for this grief

Sybilla

7/6/10.