Sins of My Father
I have often witnessed death
though not ever the last breath;
field mice frozen in a jar;
slaughtered lambs in abattoir,
dissected frogs in school labs,
cruel boiling of live crabs
for important luncheon meets.
Piglets torn from mother’s teats
roasted at a football game.
Hungry lions eat the lame
garden’s serpent kills the truth
mothers’s love that kills your youth;
little bug just stepped upon;
“don’t destroy my sweet salon.”
To embrace a death without;
that is just to be Boy Scout.
To embrace a death within;
to my father, was a sin.
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