I found his dog tags last night
Under my mother's old dresser.
The metal bent down the middle
From anger and age.
The backward letters a curse
For the bastard last name.
I wonder if my mom sees him in me.
If the flashbacks ripple when I smile
Like raindrops in flooded rivers.
The similarities breaking down
The levees she made around us
To keep out the memories.
What's the connection
Between father and daughter?
Is it the acid dripping?
Does it hurt when they get too close?
Or maybe self sabotage
Runs in our blood.
I don't want to know.
He didn't raise me
Unless you count watercolor bruises
A yellow-purple commentary,
Or cigarette buds
In empty glass bottles
As child support.
Maybe that's why alcohol
Tastes like bad decisions.
I won't show her what I found,
Because memories hurt more
Than pack a day habits
And kids I'll never have.
