reflections on a decade of war
It's a pinball machine
The self hate heats up
like a proton in zoom
Go! (a trigger is flicked)
The spring back attacks Maker
He's no longer Moses' "Mr Nice Rock"
Pain ball comes back too fast
Slams my vulnerability like a paintball
You get splashed and stained
Your bubba's not happy
He furious and laughs like a devil
Eyes light up with rage
Your defense mechanisms activate
Bounce my heart around
Sink it down down down
Zero points for me
Our son is trapped
I rock the machine
Try to dislodge him
Your turn!Â
Roles are switched
Your hate builds in momentum
Our son's heart startles you
You release too soon
Blame it on God, on men,
on the smallest pinball
I am his bubba
I light it up red red red
But you luck out
I watch my son spiral
down down down
Game Over!
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Comments
Thanks guys,Â
Poetry really helps me deal with the grief and confusion of our broken family situation. As I was mulling on the way my father in law reacted to some things I know I did wrong in my marriage a long long time ago, I pictured how similar my response was when I saw the neglect of my son---and somehow the oscillation of that thought evoked a pinball machine. LOLÂ
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I'm glad the poem did justice to the vivid imagery in my imaginal space.Â