It’s been a long-haul 22 gettin’ here,
from there.
winter, winter seems like it’s the hardest,
least these last few.
drunk ass mother-fucker comes into the store tonight,
reeks of listerine ‘n gin ‘n beer,
but he knows the store manager,
so we sell to his sober friend.
tellin’ me how he raises money for the children’s hospital,
sellin’ 191 proof bloody marys
tellin’ me he knew his ex wife for three weeks,
before their engagement,
their elopin’ marraige lasted six years,
told me he gave her everything,
save kids.
he’s one of nine, “so it ain’t my swimmers”
save kids.
she’s sittin’ there, towel between her legs,
soakin’ up what she’d told me a week earlier was our son.
‘n I ain’t got shit to say,
we’re eighteen, who the hell deals with this at our age?
who tries, who fails in blood ‘n tears?
what is there that I know to say?
don’t smoke, yet,
don’t drink, yet,
ain’t fuckin’, that’s what caused this.
‘n I’m marrow shakin’,
but I’m a man,
got thick-slab meat on these bones,
ain’t gonna,
can’t show,
she ain’t datin’ no fag.
what kind of man,
what kind of man,
I did this,
my own boy.
my own boy.
silence.
be turnin’ four soon.
they say children change you,
‘n they ain’t wrong.
