Poem -

Where art thou anonymous benefactor...to offer me succor?

Where art thou anonymous benefactor...to offer me succor?

Castaway stranded on figurative
deserted island pitted with absolute
zero salvation, sole recourse
finds scant consolation with prayer
lifetime atheist draws futile faith
within himself grudgingly accepting

feeble accomplishments ditto permanent
estrangement among kith and kin tortured
more punishingly versus death sentence of
choice: firing squad, gallows, guillotine...
nostalgically sentimentally, and zealously
yearning fore gone girl(s) of mine, one

spouse two grown offspring long since
severed emotional home ties even when
under same roof appalled, embarrassed,
jarred particularly regarding good for
nothing hang dog looking papa, mentally
unfit father, who wrought misery

upon heads he begat chronically dirt poor
Mainline moocher never earning a bloody
cent claiming psychological disability
(verity substantiated with professional
assessment attests to psychological mental
illness probably present during inchoate

biological development in utero, and most
definitely congenital) unfortunate no
supportive resources, thus experiencing
grievous incalculable relentless scapegoat
treatment - me no kid inadvertently subjected
with cruel, diabolical, exponential sucker punches

while riding the bus sitting stone temple pilot
faced during class, belittled, defeated,
framed unfairly as spitball culprit during
eighth grade mathematics with Missus Labosh
subsequently painfully shy lad threateningly
harangued, and nearly paddled courtesy

Methacton Junior High School principal
Mister Clock believe me you, aye remained
mum about said incident til...this moment,
not surprising since every unpleasantry
suppressed unwittingly festering within
psyche in tandem with threatening rapier

sarcasm ostracizing jibes cumulative
wrath unwaveringly smoldering, passively
brooding, visualizing punching meanies,
screaming... wanting to kill - sublimated hurts
glowering, exploding... decades later -
more often surfacing unannounced at odd

times venting bile at wife directly, and barking
at deux daughters subjecting innocent progeny
with mine anger, or rerouting, harboring,
channeling... pathological addiction answering
and posting personal classifieds, yours truly

guilty attempting to appease call of wild at mental,
physical, and spiritual expense additionally setting
poor paternal example accompanied with detached
avoidance maybe costing yours truly king's ransom
and/or receiving my just desserts, yes?
 

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author
Terry Reeves

Whew Matthew - quite an outpouring! Would you like to swop your life for mine?
I said that I had a swimming pool - 
they said: the bastard's got a pool and he's moaning about cleaning it out. When there are no more disasters - that means no more laughters.

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