He gets home from work with Shel Silverstein poems and candy cigarettes.
My brother takes the fake cancer sticks and leaves Shel for me.
I make origami swans out of MASKS,
and paper hats out of The Giving Tree.
All the windows are always open in the house,
and the breeze stirs up the wind-chimes hung both indoors and out.
Mom is always painting in the dining room or on the porch,
and dad brings a new canvas home for her every week.
At night we eat dinner in the living room and watch Jeopardy,
and mom and dad sit very close to each other.

Sometimes he comes home from work with roses for mom because she is pregnant,
and we get our first family photo taken,
and we hang it above our fireplace like rich people do.
Dad can’t bring a new canvas for mom so, she paints the couch,
and they argue,
and my brother and I build blanket forts in our bedroom,
and we draw signs that say no moms or dads allowed.
Mom starts getting too tired to cook dinner, so
dad makes everyone quick meals,
and now he sits on the lazy-boy instead of on the sofa next to mom.

Sometimes he comes home from work with bags.
Not shopping bags, but bags under his eyes from working two shifts.
At home he falls onto the painted couch and sleeps most of the day.
Mom is visiting my grandma by herself,
and while dad is asleep my brother and I chase the geese in the yard,
And this time we catch one and we put it in dads room.
It starts getting colder outside so we close all the windows in the house,
but the outdoor wind chimes keep dancing in their music through the fall.
Mom and dad start yelling at each other more and more,
and mom is getting really big.

Sometimes dad doesn’t leave for work.
He stays inside all day and plays video games on the TV,
and mom is still sour about dad not buying her new canvas boards,
and she paints the TV screen when dad is in the shower.
They yell for a long time,
and my brother and I stay a few nights at my grandmas with mom.
Mom goes into early labor,
and my brother and I sit in a hospital waiting room for eight hours.
Dad shows up to watch my new sister be born,
and things are okay again.

Sometimes he comes home with big hugs and a last minute fishing trip,
and mom asks him to stay, but he won’t.
Grandma comes over to babysit my brother and I so mom can go to a party,
and we build another blanket fort, but this time it was in the livingroom,
and we rent The Passion of The Christ,
and I dream that dad sold me for thirty silver pieces.
Mom got home really late and wobbles towards her bedroom,
and dad got home two weeks later,
and mom and dad scream at each other,
and mom flush’s her wedding ring down the toilet.

Sometimes he stops coming home,
and the neighbor with eight fingers starts flirting with mom,
and he would pretends that he’s gonna cut my fingers like his,
and for some reason mom laughs at the violent gag.
My brother and I sit by the door at night in case dad gets home,
and the new baby cries a lot.
And I sneak up on mom to scare her, and
she is holding broken glass from the family photo to her face.
I tell my brother and he says that maybe she is just trying to shave,
like dad did.

Sometimes he runs away from home,
and mom loses the house and moves us into the car.
The eight fingered man gets into a fight with mom,
and he siphones our gas.
One morning I see dad in the meijer parking lot,
and he is with a blonde woman, whose tits are literally bigger than her head.
I wake mom up and tell her,
and she drives to a different lot.

Sometimes he forgets to call me and my brother,
and mom has met someone new,
and the new guy has baggy pants and an obsession with football.
And mom gets pregnant again,
and the new baby blonde hair blue eyed baby looks nothing like his dark skinned father,
and we move into a house again.
My brother and I talk about dad before we fall asleep,
and I wonder how long fishing trips last.
We notice that mom is mad a lot more now,
and I see that we live with more and more painted furniture.

Sometimes he writes a letter to us,
and mom says if it’s a letter then it came from the jail,
and no one ever tells me why he goes to jail.
My brother and I never get to write back to him,
and I find my step-dad burning the old family photo.
Eventually dad finally calls us,
and he says he wants to see us,
and none of us want to see him.
What a miserable man,
so I go to meet him.

Sometimes I think about the old days,
and the rust and soot that coat my childhood,
and I am okay with it,
and it made me a better person, it makes me a person.
When I think about mom and dad I am not mad.
I only feel bad for them and the years lost with their children,
and they can never get those back,
I am not mad, I am not bitter, only sorry,
for them.

*****
My brother and I found a box of candy cigarettes at the supermarket last week,
and before bed last night I read aloud Shel Silverstein's,  A Boy Named Sue,
Because now, I’m a bit too old for origami.