You’ve always hated passionate mistakes
because you were born one.
Slid from an unwelcoming womb
with an umbilical cord and wedding band
twisting around your neck,
a noisy little mistake.
You cried,
and they sat you upright
where your tears fell, absorbed by the stained carpet
so they never became a puddle.
You learned that you were perfect that way.
At your father’s dog fight you watched
men heap praise upon bloody victors,
no sympathy for the wounded.
At home you watched you own pit bull Suzie
dote upon her ugly snaggle- toothed babes,
loving her monsters even as they bit her teats
jagged with scars.
Your own mother left.
Maybe you didn’t bite down hard enough.
You’d fix that -
be an ugly man someday,
make sure you’d never love anyone
more than they loved you.
And they would love you -
So neat and mean and quick in a fight.
They would love you, circle you
and place bets on your name
that you would stride away
victorious without a whimper.
Clean and perfect.
Mother would return and cower with pride,
for you would be her own strong monster.
When your young were born
you did the right thing -
you always do the right thing.
You picked them from you like fleas
and placed them at just such a distance
so you could inspect them for flaws.
You clawed the tears from their cheeks,
threw those useless trinkets
out the front door
and let the little ones know that
they could follow for all you cared.
As the last one
Followed her wet path of tears away,
you sat braced like an unaccepted apology.
Maybe you even wondered -
Is this really the best way to say
I love you.