duncan is running around the kettle bar
with his sister olive
they are screaming and yelling
while people are
starting in early on the day’s drunk
duncan is three and vacant
olive is pushing two at best
she has a set of pipes on her
that could raise the dead
there are no other children in the bar
because it’s a bar
duncan’s old man is your garden variety domestic asshole
with his receding hairline and dad gut
hidden under a faded football jersey
he apologies to my wife and i
when duncan and olive smack into our stools
for the third time
but he doesn’t mean it
because his america counts more than mine
dad is enjoying his stolen afternoon beer
with his bros too much
to worry about duncan and olive
killing other people’s time
he’s too caught up in the entitlement of being a parent
to see his kids
for the screaming creeps they are
because duncan and olive are so precious
their shit doesn’t stink
they’re the zenith of what he’ll accomplish in this world
other than watching another NFL season
ignorance that he’ll pass on
like family jewels and disease
boutique named monsters free to run around a bar
screaming and yelling
and raising holy hell on a monday afternoon
like they’re at a playground in a park
duncan in his rookie-of-the-year t-shirt
olive in her plaid dress
smacking their heads off the worn bar
olive screaming bloody murder
duncan prat falling and farting
the bartender giving us free shots in apology
as dad of the year
gets up to take a piss
but not before
he comes over to the bar
to order all of his bros
another blessed round.
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