His father
threw
tabby cats
off
the tar roof
by their tail
as a boy
with his younger brother in tow.

“Winner!” he swanked,
hairless chest puffed out
as the heat of the day
scorched the
furry heads
of the felines
in the brown bucket beside him.

Saliva escapes
in a dribble
down my son’s chin
when he cries.
His father gives him
something to cry about,
as promised.

I am an addict,
craving kindness
from my
son,
who is also my
sun
when my days are spoiled.
His love for me
is laced with
need,
sticky like fly paper
or the molasses
he spilled
on his sister’s hair
on purpose
by accident.

His father demands
answers
while shining a desk lamp
into his son’s squinted
eyes.
“Tell me the secrets,
I need to know.”
The details escape his
loyal lips
like a slithering serpent
swimming
through his mother’s milk.

His affection is
viper’s venom.
I am a
******
and,
he is my
drug.

His weighty brows
are down-turned in warning.
If I had a tail,
his father would pull it.
I brace for the next
attack,
my enigmatic eyes
closed tight
so I am
deliberately blind.

The calico cat
hobbled away
on broken bones
wondering why
two young boys
played their
beastly game.