Untitled #3

It started in the waiting room
My fingers numb from the round buttons
Hers from the cellphone
Dad’s from biting his nails down to the skin

Then a bundle of joy for the tabloids
Then a slip-up without the convenience of a five-second delay
Then the therapy
Prescriptions
Suitcases
And duct-taped cardboard wine boxes
Left over from his christening

The image was burned into the permanent memories of those registered to raise their hands
My recollection became fuzzy
He barely cried at all
Even after the multiple flashes

I apologized to the priest, two days later
And then stopped believing

Everything that followed was pre-meditated

The glares still bend
And conduct electricity

The silk-haired, blue-suited voice
Is muffled into the microphone

The teleprompter stops scrolling
He stands up, shirt slightly untucked
And makes sure the gears are still spinning

His hands feel soft on my shoulders
Before the silence is broken
And everyone coughs
Before their mid-morning riots
At the water coolers

- C.W.