To My Uncle, the Dead Guy

Plastic-spined man,

look what you’ve done.

You taught me to fight but didn’t say why

I couldn’t tell my mother.

As I tried like a dog to get a knuckle on your jaw,

you seemed proud.

You stuffed lies in your mouth

like crumpled speeding tickets in the glove

next to gun and flask

with a few sips the flap dropped down

letting shit fly everywhere.

Did I really remind you of yourself?

It was overwhelming.

I still smell you on my lip

if it splits.

When I hit men in bars,

I hear your neck crack,

I recreate your scars.

Red-eyed rodent,

stubborn like a raccoon at the back porch;

The sudden jumps in your stare,

bronze and wet with warm beer,

could push the brick off the garbage can lid.

What was I holding onto

when you squeezed my hands into fists?

What was I not letting go?

You left something inside me,

a diseased seed sprouted behind my ribcage.

What will grow now

as we plant you, shivering and dumbfaced

in the ground?