S[hell]ing the enemy! / [Shall]ing the f[u]ture?

And so it begins:

not even my own fam can

take ownership

for the things it resists and believes in

quite torn.

And marshalling the troops ain’t

the kinda game I

play: they

say I ain’t

any

more the

father they knew me as:

and when I ask why,

I’m told it’s

because I don’t do the dishes,

turning culo upsky; I don’t

do the stuff which the rest

thought beneath them:

four adults living

juntos as if

only

one

had responsibilities:

to shift the dust,

tip the bins,

wash over the clothing;

wash over the arguments that

present an environment,

adjusting itself to

prevent

escape

from

its terrible

bent; from a terribly

misspent

[you-

{th]-

e reality}.

 

And don’t get me wrong:

perfect I’m not.

But to argue mid-life crisis,

and suggest that the idea of living

the rest of my

life as brother

to my wife

ain’t reason enough to crisis a life

is to clearly take big sides

between father and

mother: and so if this is what’s

wanted by all

and sundry (I

doubt it), even so

hear my words –

gently but firmly right now:

I have started this path and will not

change direction:

for the rest of

my life,

I want love and

all affection;

I want to shall what I do, not

shell what you do.

I will not enter into the fray

of the tapestry

that once was our faked existence,

that no longer can remain,

that no longer will remain, and

that never will stay

however shrill the re-

action that poses

your dis

play.

 

And at least I know now a few of yous

prefer battle

to that love I do cherish; to that kindness

of caring.

At least I know now what’s ahead.

 

I am prepared.

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