Rubber Ducks and Hand Grenades

November 11, 2011
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“Push me daddy!” I yelled
As you came walking from the door
Wiping the crumbs of mom from your lips.
“Okay, my girl,” you whispered,
“Make me proud.”

You kissed me on the ear and with one swift motion,
You sent me off in to the distance.
And as the wind took turns weaving patterns into my fleeting hair,

And you whiskey breath, for a moment, made me drunk,

And your words resonated off my beating heart,

And the elderly widow across the street choked on her morning biscuit,
(And mourning she was)
I looked behind me and I saw you,
Alongside the odd neighborhood boy
With satisfaction staining your lips.

And then you tightened the noose around my neck
And into that wind,
I was left swaying.

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