TFLN POEM - Return, Resentment

Hey.

Here's this week's www.textsfromlastnight.com poem.

(949):

Fuck. That. I'm gonna get drunker and make them regret they EVER put me at the kids table. I'm a MAN.

Gary.
Gary Gary Gary Gary Gary Garrrrrry
You shitastical older brother.
I – I didn’t fly all the way from Mozam –
FUCKING
Bique
Just to wedge my scrawny ass between some diaper-clad crotch droppings
At a card table.
Oh, yeah – I know, I know it’s a card table.
You cheap dick.
It’s the same one dad used for bridge and whist and all those other
Basement games.
He’d try to teach us and we’d get bored and cry and he’d whistle-smoke unfiltered
Camels and the washing machine never stopped running.
He’d puff them down to ash.
And now he’s dry, harmless ash, too. No more fire. No more
Hunger. I stole some of him,
Maybe a hand’s worth.  Put it in a plastic bag, then a grey athletic sock.
Scattered him over the still waters of Lake Malawi.
The fish, he would have liked the  -
But fuck it with a bucket, you’re not gonna ask, or talk about my
Service in the Peace Corp.
You’re a big small-town married man.
Smile so tight, hands like a pack of sausages. Every wedding picture,
The same fucking smile. Guests are staring at me, my clothes puckered loosely
Around my ruddy skin. Suit doesn’t fit.  Itchy. Smells like turpentine.
Buncha old ghosts trying to squeeze some tears from me.
No way. Nope. I’ve got liquor. I’ve got time.
Now back off, mouth breathers, and give me,
Give me some of your vanilla cream cake.