when i was young i had this honda mini trail
i'd ride it down Mason's Knob to get my family's mail.
it was that same hill that i hiked behind an ill-tempered dad
after the hockey game, it snowed, and our hands were filled
with grocery bags
and we walked past the pond where you taught me to skate
the same road that house was on where i partied while
mom was away
remember that day you took the neighbor's dog some food?
he stormed down the hill in his underwear and untied boots
he screamed and stomped and swore and waved his fist
he explained, what you did was not generous.
it was a slight, it was insulting to my work ethic
and as you bit your lip while he threw his fit
i remember thinking "i wish i wasn't a kid"
so i could've come to your defense
you moved to this city but you still weren't sober
slept on our couch for a week and drank your soda
then you got a room at that one hotel
the one where i beat on the door as i was livid and pale
because i had come to understand the state of your despair
and the exchange that followed was the most intimate
that we've ever shared.
released 05 March 2013
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