when I come around
this is not personal
at some point
I’ll have to explain to my children
how you cannot choose your family
of course they’ll already know this
when the time comes
[or so they will say]
most of us carrying on
as if nothing had ever happened
they come & go & return as they please
mostly triumphantly
but every once in a while
like a battered boomerang
there are these marks on my skin
I’ve accumulated over the years
each one a story unto themselves
I seldom grow weary of telling
at some point they’ll apologize
for no good reason
and I’ll remind them how most things
usually come around
august two thousand twenty-one
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