War Over Lost Things #2 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

“I found it.”
I told my father
And his gray hair
Stuck out like
Thieves in the morning.

His anger ebbed,
And he resigned to the couch
Watching a movie
On repeat that
Exhausted itself
Over and over again
In a mad, futile
Carousel.

But still
The folds of his
Skin held such
Enmity towards
Something
That the slightest
Hint of an inquiry
Would cause him
To implode.

It’s so hard
To please a god,
I thought.

Even the furniture
Lost its breath.
The birds outside
In V-positions
Lost their wingspan in flight.
Everyone lost everything.

But it hurts more
To lose yourself
In a room
That held books
From sages
But never hope
From certain things.