Shanghai and the Un-Fucked Hookers

Dad bought me a hooker

And one for himself

I can’t even look at her

So pretty sitting on the shelf

How much did she cost?

And what about Mom, Dad?

Don’t you see in this moment what you’ve lost

Should I just play along, Dad?

She can’t speak English

Still better than my Chinese

How long until you finish?

She reaches out to touch my knees.

And I shake, I shake hard

I’m spilling drink on her dress

Brother if you ever felt scarred

Watch your father make a mess

Of mother, marriage and respect

From his only shattered son

I watch her kiss his fat neck

And wish I had a gun

I would have shot her then

But I just drank instead

Breathe deep, count to ten

Still and quiet in my head

How can I ever tell my mom?

You laughed and said, “Just don’t.”

I carry around with me this bomb

But I won’t, dad.  I won’t.

This entry was published on August 14, 2012 at 08:30. It’s filed under Poetry and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

One thought on “Shanghai and the Un-Fucked Hookers

  1. so honest. i felt the ache you were feeling inside. the turmoil. being torn. you captured it.

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