FRIDAY MASSACRE
"night of the long knives"
sitting in early morning bathroom quiet, toilet seat down resting spot
and sanctuary, empty wine bottles, cigarette burns, wrestling away kitchen
knife, "let me die, i can't stand the pain, give me death" mad shrieking
over, now she was breathing slow and easy, snoring, farting, coughing,
tossing and turninng in sweaty fitful slumber, irregular pulse becoming
strong determined throb, stomach convulsions fading to occasional low
tremors, hoping ll-year old daughter finally asleep in her little bedroom,
wondering how much she would remember in the morning, her uncontrolled
sobbing, "mommy, i love you, please don't die, please mommy, i love you,"
pleas, thinking ah so, child abuse indeed, and what if some neighborhood
stranger and closet pedophile, or possibily worse, friend of the family
dropped by, taking advantage of the moment, welcome to the world of rape
and lifetime of feminine trauma poor little girl, recalling past session
years ago with my "friend of the court" grief, for so much less, ex-wife
going ballistic because son michael took a long pull from a blue ribbon
suds when my back was turned, reaching over naked slumped shoulder, wiping
mucus drool away from chin and mouth corners, thinking of the young male
bukowski poets and wannabes, feeling this is great creative stuff,
wondering instead, "why me," gray dancerand troutman poet, and, who can i
tell this to, what friend can i write, try to explain how i spent my last
friday evening into early saturday morning, suicide watch alone with an
ll-year old girl, my reputation exposed and vulnerable, resting
precariously on what she might later say i did or didn't do to her, yet,
not even thinking about it during the crisis fever-pitch, early saturday
household silence, mind flashing bacck to my younger out-of-control black
alcoholic madness time, long semester and post graduate honors in
self-destruction, brain and energy constantly fueled with high octane
milwaukee suds, but, at least knowing my life as unraveling and
unmanageable, taking the walk, leaving home, saving sons and daughter daily
frontline terrors, my self hating
poisonous abuse.
t. kilgore splake
p.o. box 508
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