Me
You find me, your eyes knockout-black.
I am heavy, swerving through the door.
You do not speak. You lift me by the slop
of my neck, drop me in front of the toilet.
You flip the lights, hook me to the bowl. Wait.
I can't feel the porcelain fangs.
The toilet taunts me, smiles
like it has been waiting.
I know you must be swirling red,
you raised me to not fall like this.
Your down-stare and strict chin bites
more than any hangover, rocks me like a ritual.
I see no up from here. I cannot face you. I know
I have failed. I have not yet earned the dark mark of man.
Him
Boy, you used to be rainbow-young,
rosed cheek, yellow life, too eager
to grow up. Baby, now you are whisking
in the husk of a bottle, slosh and off-tilt.
I am grateful you made your way
home. I was like this once. My father
turned a blind body to me. Left me
swollen and ripe for the bathroom.
I will be there for your initiation.
Silent as I hunch you off the toilet bowl,
watch you atone for your regrets.
The toilet beckons you. It wants to lick
you with the same crystallize bite
it gave me. This is how it's always been.
You have passed the test I've raised you to fail.
I know you will not face me, curl to the waist
of the toilet. This is the dark way to manhood.