(h) Ome Poem by Jason Bouthillier

'Daddy, can I please take a bath? '
she asked, just five, with tangly blonde hair.
Next to sticky, cracked egg shells long stuck
to the cardboard of a Steak-ums package and
peeling, residue-laden countertops.

Rooted to a frayed, dead carpet he
leaned his hip in the crack of morning cold,
and held the aluminum door still with one hand
as he exchanged cigarette smoke for icy air.

A squall came pitter-pattering from
the chalkboard hall where she, just four,
and she, just two, and he, just one
were all exercising their fingernails.

Dogs and cats jostled his pantlegs
pressing him to hurry to the food bin
He stared to the dirt road, and flicked
his spent butt at the world.