After a while, he went to the extent
of renting two beds, twin pressboard
dressers; a larger apartment, as well.
He said support was paid up to date and
the troublesome custody battle had come
to an end. All of this means,
he believes, that no one could doubt
his daughters—estranged, now teenaged—are
really coming home. They are not
smiling in the out-of-date snapshot he’s
selected as his new cellular’s
wallpaper, explaining, “This pic is
from Sunday, just before I busted
her with a thirty-pack of Natty Light
in the closet. I am
positive her mom will lose her
shit. I feel like I have no choice but
to ground her.” He sweats suggesting this,
though just sitting. His hands shake. Dehydrated
skin bubbled with malnutrition’s cysts; gin
blossom is a constant blush, a rose
of perpetual embarrassment; a pink road
map with fractured crimson capillary interstates.
His breath is a shade of grey made
by blent smells: the fake grape bouquet
of flavored vodka, and the rancid raisin
smell of slim cigarettes. He knows the
old showtunes, but keeps quiet the
notes; he tries to talk ball with
the boys. He downloaded
old home porno featuring a man
not unlike himself, a woman
with a wicked grin; he watched it
’til he found an appropriate solo
frame of the lady (little tits, boyish hips).
Frozen as she bent over, he took a photo
to show around the office. “She’s
married, but separated. I
met her at the Y.” He did not
know that we knew that he blew
the erection test presented by the open
lips and slits of two inebriated waitresses
who, deep in self-pity and liquor,
had given themselves to him, to do
as he wished. “For a man,
this condition is humiliating,” he confided.
“But I’ve got this fucked up heart
medication. I’m not on the
pills for too much longer. While I am,
I can’t get it up.” For any woman,
for years, he’s sworn this story’s horrors
were the truth. The men he wanted
to impress, truth was “That chick from the photo,
Frank—Frankie, Francesca, I mean—she is
waiting in my bathtub.” No one is home,
my kids are both gone and not coming back
until Monday. I can do everything I want to
her.” What he wants is to become
what he is not. For us to believe
his kids love him, he can quit if
he wants, he is the kind of man
all the other men might want him
to be.
(2010)
