A Good Day
It’s always a good day when the toilet works, homework is finished, mom’s made two blueberry pies for Sunday dinner And your father isn’t yelling “you ungrateful bastard! I regret the day you were born!” after you brought him his slippers from upstairs too slowly for his liking. Later my brother and I, in monk~like silence, heads bowed toward purplish plates, finished off most of one berry pie slathered with ice cream doing our best to keep dad calm, ourselves well~nourished and safe, to hold on to the good day for as long as we could.


Powerful.