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Harold

You left my family in 1952
a few days after my father was born
still you still linger
a shadow that’s ever present
lurking on the branches of the family tree

Grandma spoke of you
Kind words for the one she still loved
never ounce did she condemn that man

I know all I need to
Bottle Crawler
Scotch-Irish racist
green beret
tender toughness

You were never real
not to me
not to my father
though he met you ounce
half a lung drunk
a myth

somehow you managed to be passed down
mentioned by my uncle at unimportant gatherings
he wants to make you a golden god
a hero of a folkloric age
he worships the daddy that never wanted him

I, your grandson,
if that’s what I am to be
will not pass you down the family tree
your blood line ends when I die
your name I never had, so you’re halfway to nothing

I don’t hate you old ejaculator
I’m just tired of your ever popping shadow
you walk out but never left

I hope you found peace
I hope you found love
I hope you put the bottle down
I hope you are with God in paradise

( I’m not sure if this is how it is in all Fatherless families were the man who left becomes mythic and is at times mentioned by those who knew him or those who dream of him. If not then I don’t know why it is the case in my family, why he remained relevant is beyond me. But what do I know I can only see things through the eyes I was giving)

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2 Responses to “Harold”

  1. An really intriguing read, I could possibly not agree completely, but you do make some quite valid points. 384397


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