I am my father’s daughter.
there is no peace in that disclosure.
The streets of his hometown,
no different than mine.
muddled in illicit history.
Kindred to many a New Hampshire narrative.
Death defiling mysteries.
What child should know of the macabre?
What toddler exchanges tombs for games played in the backyard?
what disciplinarian preaches not of love,
but of living hard?
In the days of,
King of Queens,
not a court,
nor a jester,
investigating behind the scenes.
A small world of brotherhoods.
Of even smaller,
To a degree,
a daily routine.
Of depravity without chastity.
Encouraging socially defying acts.
Whilst blacking out my own history,