when i was a child
my father pressed the base of the cooking oil can against his shirt.
it left a circle that he didn’t notice. he ruined five shirts this way.
it was all circles, and do you know who he blamed?
he blamed the laundry, my domain,
the laundry, my mother’s domain,
the fucking laundry, my sister’s domain.
he blamed the one thing that had nothing to do with him,
which was so on brand, and he was so furious over circles,
bewildered over circles, feral over circles.
was he stupid, or did he just want to blame
anyone but himself?
i said stop ruining your own shit and blaming it on me. you put that circle there
and he hit me, like his father hit him, and it was all circles.
it was all circles.
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