I heard him say my name
just as clear as these words you read
concise and with force
as if I were a child again
on the precipice of mortal danger
as if at any moment
I could very well cease to be
or perhaps
fall so far as to have never existed –
the tar melted
smelling of old lemon acidity
pooling in the low center
of a blackened tablespoon
70 brownish cc’s
sat, still warm in the syringe
I pictured his face
and took the plunge –
I heard him say my name
but he had been dead five years
my father called to me
and then left me to consider
the meaning
what does it mean
when  ghost calls your name….
was I supposed to stop….
was I supposed to act…
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and pushed the job offer away
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and let his voice carry me to sleep
I shot the drugs
into my left armpit
and threw another five
years into the addiction soup
giving it just enough temper
and spice
to block the sounds –
I often think back
to a double-wide trailer
just at the edge of Hubbard
and the night my father called my name
while I stooped
in a ****** slumber
considering what was to become of me –