It has taken too many
Years of broken
Beer bottles
Porcelain
Pictures frames on the mantle
And promises to not notice

Mr. Glass is now belching
Mumbling songs off-key
In the kitchen
By the sink
From the fridgidaire
To the soundtracks of John Lennon's
Lemonade love songs
Hitchin a ride on Cat's peace train
Or manic for the Beatles
(British Invasion on vinyl)
He has lost his collections
Soaked and ruined
From a flood aboard his battle ship
He reminisces like this
Or as a mud person hippy youth
At Woodstock

Even when tucking himself in
My barely and not legal sized bed
Naked, laying with He-man themed sheets
And grumpy bear
On my pillow, blue...

I wake to find him
Native and fetal
I am too keen to sleepwalk
So I pretend to
Toward the living room couch
Just the right size
For my eleven year old height
I don't mind
But would rather not get soaked
In Mr. Glass' yellow
Miller time dreamscapes
It would be easy
To blame the kid for bed wetting
After every twelve pack
Every couple of hours,
******* in the sinks, slowly
Losing his six pack
And or his composure
To tell tales stories
Even reasons to think ...

Mr. Petty officer (1st class 2nd 3rd)
Has rarely lost his stomach
No stink of *****
Or pools of shrink and scram
Marinated in coors and Budweiser
Weimereiner mountain man
Has his virtues
Or is it a skill?
Mr. Glass keeps it all in
Well
And rocks my sleep
Zeppelin
Half dozing to be fulfilled
I am those nights, nervous
Wreck and awake

Even as he breaks
Down nostalgic in his weeping
My ears become selective
Hugging my pillow
Listening for his fumbling
As he sways and crashes in my room
A clumsy beanstalk
Head in the cloud kingdom
Fe fy fo falling
Down

Well, it's just the broken harp
No golden eggshells
But porcelain mosaics
Beer cans and wishes
Echoes slurring deep in the well
When he snores
I migrate my mind
Away from his hell
I shrug in silence
To its frequent scenes
Yet in the morning
We both slept pretty well
As far as I can tell
From my father figures
Deficiency

All is
So seems
And he means well

Oh well.