By: Dylan Hopper, Editor-In-Chief
I swallowed my vomit against his kiss.
Earlier, I spied him suckling caviar
as if they were cheap mints.
He has never had a Life Saver,
but my father likes to call him one.
With growing holes in his pockets,
my father turns to me and says,
“Better to be a house pet
than a stray on the streets.”
Yes, I must bear it all for my father,
the broke gentleman. His job?
Dealing “I do’s” for all of his daughters. I do
not love the match he made for me.
I strike it, set alight my future
marriage in my mind. I pretend
the smoke from the cigar room is fire.
The sign above the door burns,
“Gentlemen only.”
In his tattered suit jacket, my father repeats,
“Someone must watch after you.”
He does not change
his clothes for the wedding
or his tone when addressing the dog;
“That’s a good girl.”
This suitor promises wealth,
food and shelter ’til death.
I am damned to live carefree
in the kitchen on all fours.