Slow Circles

I was an upstart, I guess

Ahead of my time

A pre-cursor

Called my dad ‘fucker’ when I was three

All he could do was laugh

 

I try to laugh

Now the child’s become the parent, and the parent, the child

Pill times and bedtimes and meal times are fights

I’m the alleged voice of reason here

and dad’s yelling, ‘you, you, you…fucker!’

8 thoughts on “Slow Circles

  1. Kieran says:

    If I make it to 71 all filters are off. Fuck it — what are they going to do. Wash my mouth with soap and put me to bed with no supper? Fiction or not, I liked the poem. Want to be in the spin cycle? Try raising teenagers and elder care at the same time.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Sean D. Layton says:

    Oh man, totally been there. I guess when I was four the neighborhood kids went to our apartment to tell my mom I was standing in the middle of the grass yelling “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck” at the top of my lungs. She was mortified (I had no idea what it meant).

    But yeah, swapped places with my dad toward the end of his life.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. The HauteWife says:

      I admit, the poem is partially fiction. I did call my dad the “f” word when I was three, but he hasn’t yet returned the favor. At 71, he’s still got all his faculties. Filters, however, are another story… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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