In hindsight, I should have
Spiked my father’s coffee
With abundant laxative

Listen to him grunting and
Gassing in the bathroom with
The light blue terrycloth curtains

When he had his fist in my face
I should have asked him if he knew
That Mom was screwing the neighbor

I should have broken his beloved things
Suggested that he might be
A homosexual;  a big, fat, hairy one

Hell, I should have said something
Other than “please don’t” and cry.
Maybe he would have laughed, or killed me

Maybe he would have instantly respected me,
Said, “Let’s go get a beer”
And shared stories about how he

Tormented bed-wetters in the Army
And had the Negroes work in the mess
Serving the officers without speaking

When they would behave appropriately
The officers would smile at them
The same way they smiled at Butch,

The beloved battalion mascot
A dog of complex heritage
They found in a ditch, eating a dead horse.