CRESTFALLEN

By Redde Michaels

I didn’t tell you that Dad died. I was surprised when you woke me

tonight – calling as a brother might.

Like you did years back. Using minutes after hours on a

cellblock payphone – somehow knowing before me how he

took his life.

In the darkened daylight, I had been dreaming him well. He

wouldn’t speak – you knew the lies he buried himself

beneath.

You knew I could hear your solitary smile. Teeth cut on charisma

inherited from your father – who died well before mine.

You called because you knew I needed you to laugh with me through

the apathy of orphanhood, casualties of probabilities:

-      Coronary by incarceration

-      Cancer by recurrent procrastination

-      Covid by septicemic obstinance

But do you know why our blood always leaves us divining sweat

stains on the ceiling?

#darkpoetsclub