Consequence
is a reaction to an action.
(I will never forgive you).
Part of it is age, I’m sure.
The dread underscoring all things -
Friends grieving their
mothers;
freedom;
youth.
Your face is a mask, taut.
Eyes unfocused as you proclaim this and that.
I tell you to quit your job;
or you’re a great dad;
or your art has moved me.
I ask you about Bristol
Cleveland
Portland.
I manage expectations.
It is raining after all.
You attack me with facts about my life.
With expectation.
hope.
the past.
I accept.
I tell you to quit your job;
that you’re a great dad;
that your art has moved me.
We try, in these moments, to bless and fix,
coo and command.
But these moments are for rest and air,
for ripping off the bandaid and relinquishing control.
Because I’m too fucking tired.
And your ego is too hungry for me to feed it tonight.