Your Mom, My Dad

Your mom drew lines on the vodka bottle but we re-filled it with water, the first time you threw up it was all Tootsie Rolls, Southern Comfort, cat hair on my dad’s black Miami Vice cardigan, his mustache was Rollie Fingers, his little comb matched his white woven sandals… Yes, it was true my dad was a cop, a detective, your mom worked in the tallest building in Racine, a secretary, her words, her red Chevy Nova a testament to something, tenacity, both of them in courtrooms built the years of their births, one marriage strong, another broken, bittered, elevators meaning so many things, symbols of daughters trying to make friends, shedding hand-me-down clothes, tears.