Bad Memories Poem by Eli MorenoDrew

When I grow old
And bear a child
The thing I fear most
Is sharing my memories.

Waking up in September
To see two towers burning,
Or,
Watching the President tell us that
We were going to war,
Or,
Seeing corpses in War tattered cities
And mothers crying for their children.

These will always be memories because
No cleansing can relieve me of them,
I’ve tried.
The shower water turns into gasoline
And the steam into smog making the memories
Concrete.

So I’ll get dressed still covered in oil
And hope the economy doesn’t light a match
While I converse with other oil saturated people
Trying not to talk of the obvious stench.

Then after our meandered conversation
I’ll think of different stories to tell my child
Why Daddy has burns all over his body.