Dad

Mike Bell/ April 11, 2016/ www.mikebellpoems.com/ 0 comments

I have never enjoyed cold tea –
you know that slop-dreg last inch

My dad drank gallons of it
with swigged slurps – his sound

By God, he could drink it hot!
Gulped down – necked red-raw

Followed by a Silk Cut drag
until the throat cancer stuck

He puffed over nine miles of fags
and how many gallons of tea?

With a cooled inch left, I stop –
Everything gives you cancer

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