A Fuzzy Yellow Scrap

Dear Father,
I'll be okay. I promise, I'll
be okay
Dad.
There is this bottle of
Jameson's in my hand, and
Dad
my sleep hasn't always been
soft pillows, satin sheets.
But,
you gave me this torch.
And its not so dark.
Dad-
I know, I know
Take care of myself.
My shoes may be
Ragged, rough,
stained with smoke.
My jacket had to be patched,
the other week.
That red? Right there
on the shoulder?
I think its blood
or maybe lipstick -
multicolored, multifaceted,
each shade smiling.
I would buy you some coffee,
Dad,
but
I think there is a hole in my pocket.
Or maybe that's just what
I tell myself-
Dad,
but you gave me this apple,
and im not so hungry.
My bed doesn't have,
Dad,
Ninja Turtle sheets, comic book
scattered bed spread. There is
no nightlight for you to
turn on
Dad.
My He-man sword is laying
dusty in the corner next
to a tattered, yellow, winnie-the-pooh Doc Martin.
And
your fists aren't firm
like tree trunks against
your hips, because
you found me on the roof again.
I can feel your fingers
grasping at thin air again
Dad.
I know you want them here,
except, im too big
Dad,
to climb your shoulders so
I can try to catch the clouds again
Dad.
But you gave me this jacket.
And its not so cold.