Drowning Man

I loved you, though you were a drowning man, with cannonballs noosed around your ankles and a whiskey bottle barely in your grasp, rushing to depths too black to follow. I loathed you, though some days still held sunshine, with a smile beheld on the blue moon and a flurry of fists and “**** yous” on the rest bulldozed my jaw and heart black and blue. I loathed that I loved you, though time has turned my memories, with intense games of Horse on cracked concrete and hours watching football in defiance of womanly threats, more favored recollections replacing all others. I love you, Dad though I loathed you, a drowning man. With scars still remaining like tallies on prison walls, I’m sorry I didn’t throw you a line before the undertow took you away.