Today I called, they weren't, have to be the bigger person
A silent treatment has begun, and I am the adult,
all over a cat, and what is wrong to do--
to care for him
who would answer the phone?
Father, on the first ring
and he sounded nearly dead
and hollow
like I should be concerned the depression
or sadness so dense like the rotting seaweed at Mitchell's cove
at times you can't even see the sand there is so much dead sea vegetable
and flies, forever flies and the smell, from far away so toxic but from up close
seems to dissapear or maybe is simply too overwhelming
as he sits in his million dollar home, planning his Brazilian keynote
he won't have to give until September
It's nearly April and is he happy?

I often wish I could be so cold to leave someone's head spinning with pain and destruction
and walk away, as if nothing happened and that person is crazy anyway
and abandon and neglect and think nothing of it
but is he happy
go lucky?
Am I? Who endured so many of his rants and am still rebuilding and re-evaluating the ruins of my psyche he had such a hand in destroying?
Is it possible, can I now admit, that there is nothing to envy in his position?
That he himself is tormented inside his own head?