Best Poems Written by Jonathan Muller

My Father's Kingdom,

Everything the sun touches Is his domain.
The broken pickup trucks, 
Trailers to broken to be habitable,
Beer cans that rustles in the wind, like tumbleweeds in the desert
The Diner, My mother works at to support her Mans, 
The Bar where he drinks the day away, too far gone to work again
My mother, bruised and broken, to scared to leave

And I, no more than age 10, to young to understand.
He’d stumble home long after the bar closed, 
Looking for someone to wail on, to prove his masculinity. 
Me or my mom, I had to choose fast, his hands were shaking as he put in the key, slowly turning it as he turned the order upside down. 
My mother couldn't take it, she had locked herself in the bathroom, 
That hasn't stopped him before. 
I knew what I had to do, “this time, mother, I'll take it this time”

Age 12, the sun was setting, He left for a week, 
One glorious week, I was able to see hope, 
the bruises healed, head held High
Mom And I we could do it alone. 
He came back into our lives, she couldn’t say no. Never learned How

It was worse at night. 
Nightly beating, Can after can, night after night, cuts and scar, Yelling and screaming, tears falling, Never noticing 
He held his belt like a whip, He owned the Trailer, It was his. We were his
You are nothing, you never will be, My mom cowered from his hand, Funny, all he was was a drunk

 I feel down the stairs, At least that's what she said, Strange how there is no second floor of a trailer. 
The rest nodded and understood, the walls of a mobile home are thin, they all knew the truth.
I hated them for that, Knowing we were suffering and not helping, turning their blind eye, 
Or cries fell on deaf ear.  
I know now why they never helped,  the walls are thin there, they hoped we heard their cries, the park was full of slaves, each too scared to seek help. 

I'm older now, A new sun rises, This kingdom Is mine,
 The broken pickup trucks, 
Trailers to broken to be habitable,
Beer cans that rustle in the wind, like tumbleweeds in the desert
The Diner, My mother worked to support me, 
The Bar where I drink the day away, not too far gone to work again. 
I never wanted to be my father, but it’s all I’ve ever known. 
Never educated, never left
This park is mine, all my Inheritance
His anger is my blood right, But I don’t want it
I'm looking for a way out before I lose myself to the kingdom.

Copyright © Jonathan Muller | Year Posted 2019