Either Way - Poem by Francis Santaquilani
I could be poetic
And say he was a dark eel
Manuevering through a house
Full of sons undetected. Seen
More in the mirror than out.
There to scare, like the old coalroom.
Potential impacted, like the cold, damp
Fireplace and clogged chimmney.
The silhouette of a foreigner
In the hallway at three a.m.
Slashing and slicing all
Who got in the way of his routine machine.
Never talking to me,
Yet taking the time to clip my little fingernails.
Preening in a second story window
While daring his wife to drop
Another son in the street below.
Posessor of the perfect euro-gaze.
He could've been anything he
Wanted to be, but he chose to hate, hate
And create more people to hate.
Or I could just list it
Like a beaurocrat. He was:
A flinger of food, a shredder of canvases,
A slapper, a hitter, a spoiler of Saturdays,
A door slammer, manicured, pedicured,
Pampered, wrinkle free, served, an
Ingrate, an existentialist, on the wrong side
Of the war and probably a sociopath.
Either way it's all accurate.
It all depends on who my audience is.
But lately, I just say I never new the guy.
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