Iíd bet there are very few scenes
as utterly devastating as watching
your dad, (the only man youíve loved
& idolized your entire life) wide-eyed
& quaking on the living room couch; just
a couple of drinks away from comatose space.

& it was around 10 A.M. that morning
when I first noticed the winter sun-
light bleeding through the blinds. I watched
as it cast strange shadows of my family across
the white walls of my parentís condo.
When my mom nodded, and mouthed now,
I bent over and peeled my dad off the cloth;
He reeked of mildew and high-end red wine.

& I can remember how hot my dad felt
to touch, like a child riddled with fever,
when my hands wrapped around his arms
& I pulled him to my chest. I can remember
how he moaned like a wounded animal when
my fingertips mistakenly grazed his ribcage,
uprooted and protruding. I cringed then

as I cringe now, re-living just what it was like
to have had my dadís fragile body leaning on me;
with his raspy white whiskers grating my cheeks,
as I carefully guided him down the silent hallway,
into the elevator & then to the car awaiting him.
I remember hearing him try to cry some,
Yet I saw no tears wash over his stains of distrust.

Zachary C. Bush is the author of THE SILENCE OF SICKNESS (Gold Wake Press, 2010), AT SWAN DECAPITATION (VOX PRESS, 2010), and ANGLES OF DISORDER (BlazeVOX books, 2009). He will graduate from the City College of New York with an MFA in Creative Writing (May 2010.) He is a part-time Instructor of English and Writing in the New York City area. He lives in Jersey City with his girl. Bush is 26.

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