Friday night 1955 and a dirt road and beer and his buddies dared him to do the half-retarded girl at the edge of the bonfire and he did. And the half-retarded child who grew inside her and who would grow to molest the little boy in the little house at the bottom of the hill one little day--that half-child was his. And he married her.
And every day for 45 whole years he mopped the whole hall at the elementary school where the normal children learned and one day cancer dared him. And it was in his penis and it grew inside him like the half-retarded child he hated and he knew it was his punishment. And he died.
yesterday he died and tomorrow I will sing a whole song at his funeral
burning my bonfire voice
whole
because half a song will
not
do
today's poem humbly offered up for OpenLinkNight at dVersePoets.com
