Dustin Brookshire

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Poem In Which I Lie Like A Motherfucker But Eventually Tell The Truth

Don’t ask Tracy Chapman about the time I told her about dropping out of high school to take care of my alcoholic father, so yes, I’m bitter when I see people smiling and singing you got a fast car. And don’t ask Ashley if I bullied her before dropping out— obviously, I was never a bully, I never had to survive school by keeping my feet off the lowest rung on the social ladder. I never put white out over her upper lip. I don’t regret what I did. I don’t.



I didn’t cry when my father’s brother died of cancer. The uncle who dated the mother of Brody, a boy I knew in the seventh grade. The boy who hated me just to hate me or maybe because he too flipped his wrist an awful lot.  The boy who came in one morning and announced to our homeroom with a smile that made the Cheshire cat look sad, Your uncle says you’re a fag. I was embarrassed that my mother had my father call his brother. I wish I had spoken to him when he showed up to our home drunk trying to apologize. I missed that chance to say, I hate you. That’s the uncle I’m talking about.  

After my uncle was long in the ground, my father told me that holding onto a grudge is a slow poison. I sing along to Tracy thinking of his words. You gotta make a decision. Leave tonight or live and die this way.

Ashley, I’m sorry.

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Banner Art:
Photo by Tom Strecker, Unsplash, 2019