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Snake Juice

For You, Dad...

For You Dad

You showed me love through….

Potato chips

Cookies

And gum

I wanted someone to grow founder of, a father. A rock.

I remember all of your hiding places!

In the cabinet, 

Behind the nightstand, 

Even in the garage.

The glass of liquor drenched your sanity, drowning it instantaneously.

The stench of vodka smelled like acidic tear drops,

Those I cried for you.

You only cared about the fermenting filth.

But it’s okay, I still remember my state capitals you taught me!

Little Rock

Lansing

Lincoln….

I sat nervously in my room hoping your belt wouldn’t cross my door.

Do you know what it sounds like when a belt hits your ass?

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

Mom stood in horror by my bedside. “Ted!! That’s enough!”

Her screams permeated through the house, like 1,000 knives piercing your skin.

Later that night, you held mom by her neck. She gasped for air when you realized the intensity of your grasp.

Of course, you can’t recall. Your memory clouded by snake juice.

Three chucks of hair pulled right out of her scalp, laying on the cold kitchen tile.

You passed out right there, dead weight.

Glad to be of service, awakening your memory.

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Christina Buczek
Christina Buczek

Christina began writing poetry in 2011. She writes about life experiences, love, optimism, and the mysteries of the universe. She draws her inspiration from Jim Morrison, Charles Bukowski, and Sylvia Plath.

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