Sorry
by Jason Fisk
I snuck outside of our house
the morning after blowing up
and spouting off an immature rant
about her lack of empathy
and I ate generic
Captain Crunch on the cold
concrete stoop
The smell of sleep still
clung to my t-shirt and shorts
I dreaded going back inside
to pay for the shit
I stirred up
the night before
I tried to take solace
in the backyard nature
beyond my cereal bowl
the chirping of the birds
the morning chatter
of the squirrels
but all I heard were
the birds bitching
and the tree rats
nagging at each other.
I dumped out
the soggy cereal remnants
and the sweetened
leftover milk on my lawn
and turned to go inside
there she was
on the other side
of the sliding glass door
The baby bouncing
ferociously on her hip
….and…I was sorry
~ Previously published in Zygote in My Coffee (October 2008)
JASON FISK lives in the Chicagoland area with his wife, two children, and two dogs. He tries to find time to write between changing diapers and cleaning up dog poo. You can visit his website at www.jasonfisk.com.
