His dad was abusive, a cop-
his mother left
his children smoke
do drugs
their girlfriends drink
cuss him
in his own house of
false laughter.
There were days
when he wouldn't have
taken all of this
there were days too
when his smiles were
real
when authentic howling filled
these rooms.
He just sits here now
stoical in a swollen chair
listening to these
parrots
they gaze from cages
dreaming of amazon forests
where no-man has ever been.
He rises from this shit-hole
meets me at the railing
we look out into the lake
he clears the throat to speak
and
a single tear is all that comes.
There is nothing I can do.