a blunt weapon

There was a time when he’d
fear nothing more
than the bluntness of the
empty bottle

his torment
his nightmare, his hell

The bottle would be
all right as long as it stayed full
It was like Lucifer before the fall

Oh, but once it emptied
then it would change completely
Then he’d see father’s grip
reverse on its neck
and turn it into a blunt weapon
that delivered its fair share
of bruises and scabs on the scalp

It never broke
like in the movies
but it surely hit harder than wood

But in the end
after all those years of standing
in its greenish shadow
he found himself thanking the bottle

It’s simple
What you don’t pick up
you don’t end up holding

He never touched a beer in his life

and certainly didn’t use
the bottle as a blunt weapon
against anybody

not even against his own father
as revenge

The cleaver was far
more effective

52 thoughts on “a blunt weapon

Add yours

  1. You got me Bogdan… couldn’t help but unexpectedly smile at this poem’s poetic-justice-y sense of humour. :)) Well written, I was definitely on the side of the main character. And such a takeaway: “what you don’t pick up, you don’t end up holding…” WOW! So simple, so true. 🔆

    Liked by 4 people

  2. A poem to freeze the soul, then to move on with the hope that this is one act of violence that may be all that he needs to leave hatred behind.

    Liked by 1 person

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