Had a dad

He never

got to do what he’d

wanted to

even though he never knew

but I’d see it on his face

in his skin

his cigarettes

his prison tats and his

brown beard

he loved

his food

his TV

mostly that

but what he lacked

was overall courage

I wasn’t always pleased

with his choices

or his slovenliness

or his punishment

or his style

or his complete and total absence

of grace and class

and basic human function

I never liked the way he ate

or the way he would grind his teeth

when he became angry

and I would stare up to his teeth in horror

his bottom lip pulled down with disgust

his burnt finger poking me in

my bony chest

taking out his failures

on my weak structure

it wasn’t an everyday occurrence

like some children had it

he did what he could

before death took my mother from him

then the heroin, meth, coke, and Marbs took his natural teeth and his home

our home

and in the remaining years

he wore away to leather

and nothing

toward the end

he ended his words

in whistles from false teeth

I could’ve easily

knock him on his ass

which is why I’d never drink

with him.