Pretend

Photo by Lefty Kasdaglis on Unsplash

Your knuckles
may have scabbed over
but the wall will never heal.
Cover the gaping hole
with a framed photograph
of your oldest son,
with his fake smile
and tired eyes.

Pretend
you weren’t the one who handed him the gun.
Pretend
you didn’t encourage him to pull the trigger
with every homophobic slur.
Every joke,
every threat.

If love’s a sin,
you must be a saint.
Only God can judge you,
but you both know
those smoke halos
are the closest to heaven
you’ll ever be.

The whiskey burns like hellfire
going down,
but in gasoline
your demons drown,
and they all
look like him.

If only he
could see you now.

© Gina Clingan 2020