FLAP AND SNAP

 

Daddy

didn’t now how to say it,

didn’t know how to do it,

Daddy didn’t know how to ask it,

but Daddy knew how to break it,

like it broke before, like they

broke him before, like they beat him

to the floor

and the butterfly flaps his wings

in confusion in the garden

they covered in concrete

when the couldn’t afford

the flowers to decorate it.

Daddy

didn’t know how to do it,

how to show it, how to feel it,

and then they thought

he didn’t need it,

cause she didn’t need it,

not then, not later, not after,

not from him who frowned at laughter

and the butterfly snaps her wings

in the back yard that’s soon to be

a cracked yard and she blames him

for all that went wrong as if

she’d never asked him

for anything, ever.

And they’re both

high on lies

in the back yard

flapping and snapping

and wondering how this all happened.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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