a shoelace caught in the escalator
waiting for something better
marking time, counting minutes
letting moments pass me by
they don't let you have them in prison

shoelaces that is
or so my daddy tells me
he made me a cross
from the threads of his socks
kept me tethered to my memories

let the son rise up
I want to cast a bigger shadow
than my father ever could

I will not be your middle-aged, middle-class
American ex-husband, ex-convict
with vertical tan lines on your face
like you welded the bars together yourself

you did, you know
and even though you were the early bird
welcoming every morning as the sun bludgeoned through the horizon, and the bell trampled your dreams
welcoming each new day of nightsticks
even though you opened your eyes before they took them from you

I'm just now waking up from your nightmare
I want you to ask me for forgiveness
so I can be sure I want to give it to you

so I can have the option of saying fuck you

wash my mouth out with soap, please
I've spent so long learning to discipline myself
I'll be drinking disinfectant soon
watching the sunset on my knees
at the deep, dark bottom of this stairwell
where there isn't any company
and the only two memories I've found
I've constructed from context clues

one is of you closing the door
and the other is of me building a staircase in the dark