Author: Kristin Macintyre
Reader: Joella Baumann
Audio Producer: Erik Kemp
This is the Omega, kid. This is the day
that will be your Zero, your void, the gaping hole
that will suck the tenderness from your pink petals.
Daddies are weak, even though they have two sturdy legs
to support their well-mannered sins. Daddies need to chase
their sore ambitions around barrels of whiskey
and hold their grey heads in their knotty hands and cry.
I’m leaving, but I will never look at a row of tidy
candy bars in a dusty dime store without thinking of you.
You are the only flower in this town, kid.
My Daddy gave me a half-smile, a loose pat on the back,
and left me standing in the teeming city rain.
He walked off holding his inky newspaper over his head,
blurred by a flock of black umbrellas and cooing pigeons.
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