Damn Spot

The door slams, the lock clicks

Seatbelt hastily shoves into place

Foot down on pedal, knuckles tight

White hills upon the black leather

Of an unmerciful wheel


Big hands, strong hands

Those used to hold his little boy up

Swinging him upon strong shoulders

Putting him on top of the world

Pale hands, shaking hands

With ‘sin’ written over them in invisible ink

Forever stained, no matter how hard

Its owner cry

“Out, damn spot,

Out, I say.”


Up and down, round and round

Waiting for execution at every traffic light

Big hands clench and unclench

Foolishly attempting to fool the mind

Of a fool

In an old family car

Funereal black

He tries to run away from

The bitter aftertaste of revenge

All the while his little boy cries

Straining, screaming,

“Daddy, drive back

My little sister can’t swim!”

The End

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