Spike's everything you once were,
And will never be
again,
Now he's hogging your sofa,
Eating all the
Wheat-A-Bix
While channel surfing,
When he isn't leaving damp
towels
On the lavatory floor,
Your unwelcome guest,
His
booted feet on your coffee table.
He's a man with no reflection,
Yet you see a younger self in
him
With every snipe, every snark,
Every cutting, rude
remark.
Was it like this for your father
Twenty years and more
ago,
Once upon a time?
You'd like to wring his neck-
Not
that it would silence him
Still, the vision of your two hands
Closing down upon his
windpipe,
Helps, though you wonder
Would he keep calling you "old man"
Laughing at you as you squeezed?
Still you
persist, asking him,
"What did you see down there?"
"How
many demons do they hold?"
"Can you tell me what they did to
you?"
When you ask him this last question
He sneers, calls you "old
fart" while
Rudely demanding that you buy him
More fags and
peanut butter,
"Make it the crunchy kind, geezer!"
The
terror on his jeering face mirrors
That on yours when your father
asked
You what demon did you summon,
With your worthless
friends.
Silently the two of you sit there
On your old and battered
couch,
Wheat-a-Bix crumbs and fag butts
Litter the floor at
your feet,
Wordlessly remembering the fear,
Of something
shameful done:
Yours twenty or more years ago,
His less than
twenty days-
Both avoiding each other's eyes.
Spike's everything you once were,
And will never be
again,
Once more he's hogging your sofa,
Eating all the
Wheat-A-Bix
While channel surfing,
When he isn't leaving damp
towels
On the lavatory floor,
Your unwelcome reflection,
From
twenty years before.