ask me for *my* birth certificate, i goddamn dare you

The only thing on which my parents could ever agree

was that I was to be named after Amerigo Vespucci 

after that, the settlements and similarities ended

Then they revolted, through blood and ink, against my grandfather

threw shackles on my son and oppressed my neglected my daughter

generations later, my kin haven't fully mended

and my parents have been at it, one hand from the right, one from the left, since I was born. they've been arguing for so long at this point that neither side could ever admit to the other that even a fraction of their premise could possibly be right. it's like admitting you've been cheating on your significant other, if you don't fess up to wrong-doing within the first week, it's never going to happen.

the tensions have built up for too long now, the wine-infused fight raged on past the point of even remembering where the fulcrum of the dispute slipped askew

with the hope for resolution being dashed away by lawyers on either side of this parental fight

and 'heads' and 'tails' too involved in their own game of taking potshots and scoring points, banning anal sex while selling joints

it's all become white noise to me

I thought once your folks got divorced, you were supposed to double-up on presents during holidays

instead mine fight over where I'm to eat dinner and which denomination of their specific spiritual sect I'm going to write in salutation on thank-you cards,

"Dear Haliburton,

thank you this year for no-bid contracts,

and I hope your Christ's Mass is a fucking blast"

-or-

"Hello, Trader Joes,

I hope you know how much I love your overpriced selection of organic apples,

may them candles burn EVEN more than eights days

as long as that's not sacrilegious for me to say"

and instead of spending money on me

(my shoes are falling apart

i can't afford a decent education

and there are potholes all down my street)

they took all their collected pennies

and bankrupt the entire fucking neighborhood

poisoned the water supply, tore down the traffic lights

just to prove their side was right

they've even gone so far as to air commercials on Superbowl Sunday against each other

lobbied attacks with such hostile ad-hominem tempestuous energy

that agreeing at this point in time would resemble suicide more than compromise 

because the bickering has become such an intrinsic part of my parent's makeup

that letting go of their hate for one another would be more like identity loss to them

than an act of love for me

Amerigo Vespucci lent me his name

then my authors left me to waste

it feels too late
to suture up this laceration
unless, that is
my architects go on vacation
from tearing everything we built asunder
is that possible now?
one's left to hope and wonder

it's never too late
it's never too late
to relax your chest
and open up your ribs
and upchuck the hate