Accidents that Suck Life Away

Something I wrote for my thesis back in college.

For months at a time,

to keep bad news from calling

my father unplugged the phones.

Other wise, his pulse would quicken,

the vein twisting frantically

when the phone rang dully

from the kitchen wall.

He didn’t want to remember the

smell of blood- lead,

heavier than the piles of metal

in the sawmill, black as oil on concrete.

It would stain. Leave a mark.

The voices on the other end,

screaming louder than the saws

slicing through the trunks of trees.

My god! It sucked him in! What do we do?

I heard them just as loud as my father.

At the sight of him pulling

pieces of fabric, globes of flesh,

from the dark corners of a machine,

and wood boards soaked with red hues

I puked through the gaps of my fingers.

I never had seen so many tears

in my father’s downcast eyes.

Author's Note

This poem hasn't really been edited through. It was something I had to write in a quick span of time. Any suggestions to make it better, let me know.