Thursday 18 June 2009

Hallowed Be Thy Name

He is the drunken, absent father
Who left us in our strange, wonderful infancy,
For unfathomable errands involving liquor and back-roads
And rusting rented cars
That travel the unending deserted miles of Heaven.

Every decision is erratic and blurred,
With calculated movement folding into staggering motions
Of unsure footing in a vodka half-dream

Through His thick clammy palms like two blunt tools
Passes greasy currency that used to buy happiness
Into the sequined underwear of nameless women
Who swing heavily bosomed bodies towards His listless face.

From day to day He passes through the ghost towns
Of a conscience long gone for humanity
And nights go by when He stares at the broken TV
Of the cheap motels of the human soul

And yet for all the sadness of this pitiful existence
There lies within Him thought and feeling
Of something other than gin-reeking fantasies
More than just a pipe dream of lust

On our birthdays’ it arrives amongst the mail
Small and crumpled in cheap blue paper
Filmed in the fatty remains of road side cafes
A scribbled note of intended happiness
Written by an unsure and rarely used hand

It is not what we wanted and smells of the damp
That plagues the haunts of that forgotten man
And yet we hold it to our chests so tight
And tears form in the corners of our eyes because

He remembered.

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