by Nick Gisburne
My pride and joy, my brand new car, is bent,
The front of it forced halfway through a van.
A thousand raging chemicals are sent.
They tell my brain, “Decapitate this man!”
My mother is as calm as I’d expect,
For someone who was nearly torn in two,
But, somewhere in her psyche, I suspect
She’d like to find a knife to run him through.
That worthless little shit brick jumped the lights.
How hard is it to notice they were red?
I’ve never been a fan of fists, or fights,
But what a price I’d pay to see him dead.
I call him out. “You maniac! You’re mad!”
He chuckles. Nothing ever dents my dad.
