57/365: Old Apology
he had grinned with narrow eyes
over his slice of cake and said,
But I like my cake,
and I'll eat it,
even if it's bad for everyone here.
His voice growled at the ends of his words
while his fork wove a vague threat.
His eyes were heartless pins
that didn't see.
he took me out to the garage
and lit us two cigarettes.
I love her, you know, he said,
pulling an old card out from behind a board.
I don't mean to hurt her, and this,
she gave it to me after a fight
when the kid was small.
It reminds me to come back.