Dad Smelled of Old Spice
And vanilla scented strawberries.
I remember that much. My memories
grimly writhe in ill-fated dusty reams.
Moral twists and a warrant shuffle,
my velveteen trickery and botheration.
Bad choices, bad promises, and those
bad boys. All that shirking and sharking.
There was too much the matter
with that boy, Dad said. The heart of fog
is in the midst of mud. I just shrugged.
There’s a lot I don’t understand….
Inspired by text from Bleak House by Charles Dickens