The Intervention

After

The Intervention

I took my sisters out

For some drinks

A second death

In 4 months

Needed to calm those nerves

I should never

Have the role

Of being the parent

For my parent

Thrust onto my shoulders.

It goes against

All the instincts,

I,

as a son,

have.

Every decision

Is one

I make

That

Shreds my heart

It’s a lose-lose.

I’m either failing

As the unconditional loving son

Or

As the grown-ass man.

I replay the gut-wrenching words

I told you on that day,

Every day.

And the flow of tears

From my sisters’ faces

During the call I made to her

In front of your face.

Which is why,

I’m up writing this

At 12:57 at night,

Seven months later.

Forget the betrayal

Of the church

Or the Pour Man’s deal

That was a sham

Or the sudden death

Of my beloved aunt

The Intervention

Is what has me

Smoking cigarettes.