Between the Broken

"BETWEEN THE BROKEN" I talked to my father yesterday. as we stood in conversation and cigarettes, he told me there wasn't much he could do about anything that has passed. "all of you are grown already, with your own lives. you, your brothers and your sister." he looked on with a drag on the nicotine. "all this **** happened, it's happening to you one by one, they just don't understand, that's the way it works. you were first, now the rest follow. they'll catch up to us because eventually you get pushed to the side." I looked on with a drag on the nicotine. "it's @#$&ed up but we do what we do and their kids, your kids and their kids will do it too. you and me, there's nothing wrong with us. we just added a little pepper to our meals." I suppose in every sense he was right, **** doesn't mean **** after a while. as my right hand slowly turns into his, as the white slowly creeps into the black just like his did, **** doesn't mean ****. there's brutality in his honesty and it's exactly where I get mine from. the Egyptians used natron salt to preserve death, my father used a cigarette and his words to preserve ours. By: Chicano Eddie 10-26-2016