poem

Wednesday's at Villas

Divorce is Wednesday nights at Villas 

For pizza and all you can drink cokes

Asking Dad for another quarter

To stick in the table side jukebox

So I can listen to Funkytown

And Another One Bites the Dust

It’s drawing pictures of your new stepmom

With horns coming out of her head

And flames for hair 

It’s getting in big trouble for

Cracking an egg on the skull

Of your toddler half brother.

It’s calling Dad collect on his birthday

Because Mom didn’t get a child support check. 

Divorce is figuring out rides

To weeknight baseball practice. 

It’s hearing the phrase “broken home”

And realizing the guidance counselors

Are talking about you

Which means there’s at least

A possibility it can’t be fixed.

Divorce sucks.

But the adults

Say it is necessary

That it cannot be helped

That it is not your fault

That mommy and daddy both love you

Very much, no matter what.

Divorce is anger, a secret shame. 

It’s using the key hidden under the mat

To get into the house after school.

It’s the church pastor showing up

With a carload of donated groceries,

All the good sugary cereals, too. 

It’s watching mom chain smoking 

In the backyard at midnight

Gnawing her nails down to pink nubs. 

Divorce is feeling weird, never quite normal

And doing your best to fake it

So no one you care about knows.

It’s Thanksgivings with mom

And July 4th always with dad.

It’s summers across the country

Away from all your friends.

It’s me when I’m with dad

And then a different me

When I’m home with mom

It's one day realizing that 

I will always be two little boys

Until I learn how to repair 

What had to be broken 

To make me who I am.

3/18/24