Put Them All Together (with stage directions)
M stands for the murderous feelings you had for my father,
wishing him dead the day before
he died from a heart attack.
O stands for the ostracism you endured when, after you attacked
me with a broom, I didn’t speak to you for a year in the eighties.
T is for the trial you put me through when I brought Judy, my Jewish
home to meet you and you bragged how you had “Jewed-down”
Mexican merchants on a trip to Tijuana.
H is for the humiliation I felt as you boasted to your friends
that I wore “Husky” pants when I weighed 164 pounds
in sixth grade and you didn’t think I was fat.
E stands for the psychotic envy you displayed when, in your seventies,
you proclaimed that you were “prettier” than me.
R is for your favorite name for my father: “Rotten Son-of-a-Bitch,”
which you called him when he was drunk and didn’t care.
Put them all together and they spell … regret.
They spell … I loved you anyway.
They spell … I’m glad you’re out of your misery.
They spell … it couldn’t have been otherwise.
Read Charlie Brice's poetry
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