Your yelling reverberates off the car windows,
so loud,
I can picture them cracking.
I've pulled my body far away rom yours
and locked a trembling fist around the door handle.
It's a precaution beaten into me  
since I was ten.
I know he is never you, but faces morph
And you're turning into a monster.


Flashes of everything hit quickly.


The swift slap, miscalculated, and across my ear so hard it burns.
The swift turn of my step as I see your smiling face on a limestone boulder, it cracks at the edge
and your foot slips.
The swift feeling in my gut as I finally turn to you in this rusted 1957 Jeep CJ-5
And realize,
You're not him.

I should speak because my silence is bleeding into you.


And when I finally do,
We're both confronted with our past hurting.


I see your demon and she's dark haired with running fire in her mouth that took away your freedom.
And you see mine,
Who's forty years older than me and only responds to "dad"
When he's not emptied a bottle of dark liqour.