Familial visit
He’s
waiting for an apology
From his
life. The fate he
Wandered
into, didn’t buy.
The iron
dropped on his head
As a kid
still shows itself
In an
uneven scar. The belt
Marks still
whip his hide.
The time
he took on his dad,
Not standing
it anymore,
Burns in
the welts he hides
Under sleeves.
But it’s himself
He sees
in the mirror these days,
Not the
hunted animal of old.
The
clock hits nine, nearly time
To take
the bus out of town
For the prison
visitation line.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, June 21, 2020
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