Goodwill

In the garage my dad digs through his clothing

from before his two years at Western Penitentiary.

 

He hands me a spoon & syringe.

I don’t wanna see that. Throw it away.

 

He found them in a pair of jeans & hands me the jeans

size 30 / will they fit you? / There’s no way I can fit in em now—

 

                        His heap

                        of stamp bags

 

                        & foil

                        in the shredder

 

                        dope

                        on a spoon

 

                        hidden

                        above the medicine

 

                        cabinet

                        in the basement—

 

                        belt

                        on the door

 

                        dope

                        ready to cook / shoot /

 

                        dope

                        I rolled / opaque & callous

 

                        between

                        my fingertips before

 

                        flushing

                        it so grandma wouldn’t have to

 

                        see

                        the way she had to see

 

                        her son

                        arrested in our home.

After driving him back to the half-way house

I pull the Wranglers on & they fit tight

 

around the waist & baggy in the legs

so I take them to Goodwill.

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