Sweat and Sour Whiskey

Hard work and sweat,

Blended with the fumes of a few swear words,

Old Spice and Listerine,

Broken hearts and bruises,

And a touch of sour whiskey.

That’s how my father always smelled.

For a while I reeked of resentment,

And hatred and spite,

And rightfully so.

But not anymore.

I take the stench or rotten,

And turn it into roses.

I forgive. Because I love so deeply.

I forgive. Because he is such a part of me.

I forgive. Because I know his torment.

I forgive. Because he smells like my dad.

And I forgive….because I love the smell of sweat,

and sour whiskey.