WHAT THEY CAN’T ABIDE
What they can’t abide is when you sit back sipping tea with your stocking feet up on a hassock and blow smoke their way from under hooded eyes.
What they can’t abide is how you take your shattered life and stack it stone by stone into a monument to grief.
What they can’t abide is how they strip you of your epaulets and you suck in cyanide and exhale roses.
What they can’t abide is how their daughters meet you in a place they can’t locate and bear your children.
What they can’t abide is how you vanish every time they draw their sword and leave them screaming challenges into an empty sky.
