Bad Blood
BAD BLOOD
Bad blood runs
from my mouth. Words
slip on the mess. Get
caught inside years. Accumulate
the way cells grow cells until
blood is so sick repair
is impossible. Bad
blood coursed through
my dad’s body for years
as he died a long slow
death. The cord between us
sawed in half by a dull
rusty blade. Breeding more
bad blood. Anger
and resentment. Tears
and impotent outrage. The heft
of a full blow to a steel
door because death
was knocking and I couldn’t
hold it back or stop
bacteria from infecting
his aging body or my
life. I am so old with all this
bad blood. It pools
in orange bottles where white
pills float like fetuses. All the little
deaths I committed trying to kill
bad blood. It smears car
seats where screams
curdle blood and hurl
themselves to the curb. I vomit
history into a parking
lot where bad
blood congeals thick
as oil. I slip
on my tongue. Tangled
in bad blood. Born
of bad blood. The fucked
up gene pool of the
fucked up. Raised on
smoke, booze and
bare assed shame. Bad
blood collects for years.
Vials of the crap lines
the halls of memory
until it’s too much. Bad
blood seeps so deep
it breaks the bond. I spill
my guts and then shut
up. Bad blood haunts
my body. A possession
or voodoo act. Stab
me with pins. Tell
me the secret. Perform
the miracle of alchemy.
The recipe for turning
a piece of shit into a life
worth living. Flush
my bad blood down
the toilet. Years
of words gone
wrong stick like scabs
to the calendar. Keeping
tally. The long
list of days. Pick off
the wounds with ragged
nails and toss them
in the gutter where
bad blood belongs.