Yesterday was "that" day.

I look down at the phone. "Long and hard" would be a shit description and a lie. A glance is enough. Photographs of other people's lives. Children littered around their feet or crammed upon their laps. "Happy Father's Day!" Again...again...and again. I am not disturbed, disgusted or envious. In fact, I am pleased some of the "breeders" out there are my friends...people I have a genuine respect and affection for. I am, however, detached. Full up in this moment with a bewildering nothingness. I have stopped wishing others a happy Father's (Fathers'?) Day. I make an exception for my Father-in-law and actually look forward to calling each time this Sunday rolls around. He has earned it. I do not spend time doubting others' worthiness, but I do wonder if I have earned it.

My father died when I was two years old in my Mother's arms. If asked, she would tell you she was grateful for having that last moment. That's not an extraordinary sentiment for a widow...just something I am grateful I was too young to remember. I am told I stood day after day by the front door waiting for him to return from delivering the mail.

I'll pause here to keep this from being overly sentimental. See, this "memory" has yet to belong to me. I doubt it ever will. It is a fabrication woven from snippets and crumbs I have gathered over the years. The child by the door is nothing more that a Norman Rockwell creation with a skinned knee and a red wagon. Most days, I keep that issue lying face-down on the table.

Perhaps he would have taught me how to avoid getting beaned while playing T-ball. There’s trauma for you.

Voluntary Benefits Market History: A PowerPoint Presentation in More Slides than I Care to Count

I showed up late.
Ten minutes, to be exact.
The suit sucking wind by the microphone
may just be what Mary Shelley
was warning us about,
though I suspect this guy also frightens
        children.
A goatee in place of scars…
Hair plugs in place of neck bolts…
The Men’s Warehouse in place of fur and rags…
        ALL
        CONNECTED
        BY A
circle (BLAH BLAH)
    -->
square (BLAH BLAH BLAH)
    -->
triangle (BLAH)
    -->
the word “benefits” in magical friendly font
                (Comic Sans?)

In between the words
“Security”
“Savings”
“Cancer”
“Voluntary”
“Disability”,
    I begin to feel Nauseous.
    Sick, in fact.
    Ill.
So much, I wonder, “did he put on too much Brut?
                    Old Spice?”
Perhaps that tie combined with
my failing eyes
is fatal.

“Guidelines”
    “Waiver”
        “Open Enrollment”
Is this a last lunge forward?
A deathbed gasp wrapped in A4 paper
    and stamped 13 times
        “PRODUCT”
        “PRODUCT”
        “PRODUCT”…?
Did I actually hear the words “love” and “corporate”
    in the same sentence?

Sorry pal.
Today, I’m just here
    for a respite.
At most,
3 tri-fold pamphlets
    that someone else
will have to clear from my desk
after I am gone.

Beast

"That's the best part of School--
The social events,"
She drones in between
Flips of her skirt.
"Christ!" I think as I
Move just enough to allow
Some blood back into my testicles.
The best part of school for me
Was getting away from
All the dumb-ass yokel twats
I grew up with.
The best part of leaving school...
Getting away from all the dumb-ass
Pretentious fucks that littered
The campus like lice in cotton panties.
I'm not so confident in my escape though.
I still have to deal with the mirror
At least once a day.