Finding Love in All the Wrong Wagons

And I first learned the Lord’s prayer
Our father and all
Sitting in a cold room lined
with long mismatched folding tables
all with at least one chip in its cheap laminate
uncomfortable steel folding chairs stamped
with an acronym I never needed to learn and
with a revolving number of strange adults
clutching their cigarettes in one hand and a Styrofoam cup
of day old coffee, powdered creamer, and sweetener
in the other
I never had the cigarettes, but I had coffee altered
beyond recognition just trying to fit in

there were regulars
people that called to my dad
“hey, Faze, (pronounced like the Muppet Fozzie)
you hanging in there?” but
he was only there for the chicks
for the faux-friendships for the satisfaction
of the court. He counted his sobriety
in mandated meetings remaining
a countdown to blast off
a countdown until plastering

Give us this day, our daily bread,

I never heard my dad chant in time
never heard him admit he had a problem
his gums too dry to speak, and a thirst
in need of quenching
never heard him ask for daily bread

when I first learned the Lord’s Prayer

forgive us our sin as we forgive others

I learned that of the spiraling cast of characters
about the 93% would soon break free
of the wagon’s weight
and that my dad has been trailing
behind, feet first, for years

By Peter Faziani

Biography:

Peter Faziani is a 3rd year PhD Candidate at Indiana University of Pennsylvania. He is also the Editor-in-Chief for Red Flag Poetry. His work has appeared in journals such as Words Dance, Silver Birch Press, The Sandy River Review, The Tau, Images, and other journals. He is a Michigander living in Pennsylvania with his wife, two daughters, and two corgis.