Your meaty callused paw
Always inches out of reach,
I've hunted you for decades
To bite the hand that never fed.
A faded yellow photograph
Is all I knew of your face,
Whiskey rocks in a jelly glass
And a jagged smile that said, "Later, kid."
The ultimate in disrespect
Is a so-called man who leaves his son
A useless gun in pocket,
A heart with no justice, just ice.
Tom reads "Just Ice":
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Tom confesses: Missing fathers are a recurring theme in criminal backgrounds. I wanted to explore the feelings of abandonment and how they could become blind rage.
THOMAS PLUCK writes unflinching fiction with heart. His work can be found in Crimespree, The Utne Reader, Beat to a Pulp, Pulp Modern and most recently Lost Children: A Charity Anthology. His home on the web is www.pluckyoutoo.com.