there was a time when he’d
fear nothing more
than the bluntness of the
empty bottle
his torment
his nightmare, his hell
The bottle would be
all right as long as it stayed full
It was like Lucifer before the fall
Oh, but once it emptied
then it would change completely
Then he’d see father’s grip
reverse on its neck
and turn it into a blunt weapon
that delivered its fair share
of bruises and scabs on the scalp
It never broke
like in the movies
but it surely hit harder than wood
But in the end
after all those years of standing
in its greenish shadow
he found himself thanking the bottle
It’s simple
What you don’t pick up
you don’t end up holding
He never touched a beer in his life
and certainly didn’t use
the bottle as a blunt weapon
against anybody
not even against his own father
as revenge
The cleaver was far
more effective