poem

 Broken HomeDivorce is Wednesday nights at Villas For pizza and all you can drink cokesAsking Dad for another quarterTo stick in the table side jukeboxSo I can listen toFunkytownAnd Another One Bites the DustIt ’s drawing pictures of your new stepmomWith horns coming out of her headAnd flames for hair It ’s getting in big trouble forCracking an egg on the skullOf your toddler half brother.It ’s calling Dad collect on his birthdayBecause Mom didn ’t get a child support check. Divorce is figuring out ridesTo weeknight baseball practice. It ’s hearing the phrase “broken home”And realizing the guidance counselorsAre talking about youWhich means there ’s at leastA possibility it can ’t be fixed.Divorce sucks.But the adultsSay it is necessaryThat it cannot be helpedThat it is not your faultThat mommy and daddy both love youVery much, no matter what.Divorce is anger, a secret shame. It ’s using the key hidden under the matTo get into the house after school.It ’s the church pastor showing upWith a carload of donated groceries,All the good sugary cereals, too. It ’s watching mom chain smoking In the backyard at midnightGnawing her nails down to pink nubs. Divorce is feeling weird, never quite normalAnd doing your best to fake itSo no one you care about knows.It ’s Thanksgivings with momAnd July 4th always with dad.It ’s summers across the countryAway from all your friends.It ’s me when I’m with dadAnd then a ...
Source: Buckeye Surgeon - Category: Surgery Authors: Source Type: blogs