Saturday, November 28, 2009

poem of the day 11.28.09

comb on the floor

my father is on his hands
and knees
he can’t find his
comb on the floor
and he is blaming my mother
telling her she’s the one
moving shit around
all of the time.

they have been here
for two days
and i started drinking
at eight in the morning
on thanksgiving.

my father is on his hands
and knees
he finds his comb underneath
his own travel bag
he then proceeds to move all
of his things
across my living room
away from my mother’s things

and the two piles
of luggage stay like that
for the rest of the holiday
like two boxers in their respective
waiting for the next round
to begin.


Issa's Untidy Hut said...

Damn, you can't make this shit up ...

John Grochalski said...

don, you can't. the poem is verbatim. i walked into the room and there is my 59 year-old father on his hands and knees, looking for a $1 comb and arguing with my mother. ally and i had two piles of luggage in our living room for 3 dsys.

tiger said...


tiger said...