Poor Buster

© Elizabeth Larrabee

I felt sorry for you Buster

especially the night

your father had the D.T.'s

something awful.

The police came and their voices

cut a swath of violence

through the midnight stillness.

"Christ, get the straight-jacket on him,

Joe. He's stark-ravin' crazy this time."

Across the landing on the third floor

of our River Street tenement

your father was cursing and thrashing

as they dragged him off

to the waiting paddy wagon.

You and your Ma clung

to one another in the doorway,

crushed by the humiliating

howl of the siren.

Nightmare over,

my heart still went bangbangbang

as I withdrew my eye

from our kitchen keyhole

and crept back to my room.

Imagined monsters under my bed

and couldn't sleep.

I couldn't sleep because I felt guilty.

I felt guilty

because I was so glad

it wasn't my father.

© Elizabeth Larrabee

Earliest Recall | Lady Slippers | How Poor Were We? | Free Food

The Smaller The Bigger | Mud Flats | Speaking of Smells | Random Pieces

Growing Up the Hard Way  | No Bogey Man | Green Apples | Poor Buster

Up and Down | True Friends | Moving | Rosie's Hangout | Crystal Ball

You weren't so Hot After All | Haunts | On Acting the Way You Feel | Amen

E-Mail Liz Larrabee