when i see rusty keys
i see my father in the middle
of a dilemma he tried to hide forever // trying to escape
from himself with himself as an
accomplice // he forgot he told me stories
of yesteryear when we sat on our disquietude // a lifetime
ago it seems when he snapped his fingers to trap me
into his American Dream.
my father and i—
we are a gasket to humanity but
quick am i to forget
that a word called freedom exists // rusty keys
are a canvas of endurance & my
father is a mastermind of this art.
i am so much like my father
but my wiser son calls me a
stainless key // for he sees doors get opened
even those which master keys dare not open—his mother.