He was dead most of his life,
although he didn’t know it,
and by the time he was a father he died.
Not old, he raised Diane and Margaret
from infancy to adolescence.
Proud they were involved in karate
he drove them to lessons.
They kicked and lunged, lean
in white smocks. It was what he wanted,
being a father. Before they were born
he wanted others: methadone,
coke, grass. He provided others
with such things, and wanted them
to see him in the car with the girl
and drugs. Eventually he married
a girl, a nurse. He wanted a roof
for shelter, steady employment,
say, behind a bar. For he was good
mixing a Tom Collins. These girls,
first one, two years later the other.
Then he began to live, as if the self
he’d been, on a corner waiting,
looking to sell acid or score a bag of smack,
as if he never existed.

Peter Mladinic

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Peter Mladinic’s fifth book of poems, Voices from the Past, is due out in November 2023 from Better Than Starbucks Publications. An animal rights advocate, he lives in Hobbs, New Mexico, United States.