In the <br />Bedroom of <br />A dark <br />Apartment <br />My father <br />Rests <br />Wearing <br />Yesterday’s <br />Apparatus- <br />His breaths <br />Blatantly blow <br />Blasts of <br />Alcohol <br />Onto a <br />Drool stained <br />Pillow. <br /> <br />One small <br />Secondhand football <br />In the <br />Corner <br />(Perched beside <br />A pitiful pile of <br />Pornography) <br />Gather’s dust <br />In the <br />Focused <br />Sunlight. <br /> <br /> <br />A pale <br />child <br />Sits on <br />A shredded <br />Sofa, playing <br />Video games <br />To stimulate <br />The simulations <br />Of a family <br />Repaired. <br /> <br />Morning light <br />Erodes <br />The footballs <br />Arched body- <br />Dust <br />Digs deep <br />Within it’s <br />Tapered flesh <br /> <br />If one <br />Vociferous <br />Idea had <br />Veered into <br />My heart, <br />Let it be: <br /> <br />Judge <br />A man by where <br />He keeps his <br />Dust.<br /><br />Lazarus Knix<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dust-40/
