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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

citydeepfatherfather sonfree verse

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