By Rebekka Paulsen
If my father is who you want,
Then here is sore muscles and swollen veins.
Here are the scars ripping
Across his chest, the pains tearing
Through the organs.
Here is the shelled soul downing
Lay's chips on the leather sofa. I challenge you
To end it now, while he still has his senses.
Go ahead, dare to seep
Into his skin, his cells. Because here, kidney disease,
Here is where he waits to be re-introduced to you.
The man you seek,
Take him, if you must.
Amazing poem; I think it’s inspired by Brian Turner’s, “Here, Bullet.”