Whiskey & Bruised

Two Gulps

She didn't cook me dinner

and I got so mad — unreasonably so,

but undeniably.

So I hit her. Again.

She did cook me dinner the next day

and maybe your hands don't solve problems

but mine seem to go away once I let my father out.

It's not me, it's my father.

I try to tell her that but she doesn't listen,

she never listens.

My mother never used to listen

but after a while she realized that even speaking

doesn't ensure you get heard.