Caravan By Brenton Booth

When I was sixteen I spent the summer

holidays with my father. We watched old

movies and drank Jim Beam outside his

caravan while Mozart drifted from the 

speakers inside. He never let me drink

much--I was always satisfied with one

or two anyway--, my guess is he saw 

himself in me, and the problems 

excessive drinking had created in his life.

Living out his final years in a caravan in

a suburb he hated, but had no choice 

because of past mistakes—mostly due

to the bottle. Though both of us smiling

and content. Me still a child, him 

happy with the undeserved company.

With every day feeling like victory. 

In a perfect summer, that unfortunately 

couldn't last. 

Brenton Booth lives in Sydney, Australia. Poetry of his has appeared in New York Quarterly, North Dakota Quarterly, Chiron Review, Main Street Rag, Naugatuck River Review, Heavy Feather Review and Nerve Cowboy. He has two full length collections available from Epic Rites Press. brentonbooth.weebly.com