history
Paul Lojeski

​
my father was your
father. my father
was all fathers, back
then. hard hit with
drink and vile
disappointment,
tortured by the light
of day, vilified
by the rag wagon
of night, creaking
through his dreams,
the snap of the driver's
whip calling his
name. he told me
so, as the surgeon
made the last cut.
I still see his bloodshot
eyes searching
for a way out. till
one day he found it
and I watched him go.