Daddy Dearest

In the yellow cylinder with crowded rows,

my friends knew to stop making jokes 

before we turned the corner. 

Instant Replay. The small, disheveled

bar sits on the turnpike

mocking the use of my existence.

Your black Mazda resides in the same spot, 

never failing to disappoint me.

At least I know he’s alive. 

Bud Light percolates from your pores 

like a steaming kettle as

pill bottles pile in your 

faux leather compartment.

Tucking dollars instead of children into bed.

Andrew Jackson knows more than me. 

It's been years and the views 

from inside the bus

are always the same. 

Still wishing you loved me 

like your alcohol.