I don't want to remember his face.
But I do.
Mom said that I'm allowed to cry
No matter what people say
And although he makes people cry on a daily
At least not on the outside.
When I stare
In his eyes
My lungs are sobbing
For my sisters
For my Mom.
Erupting in accusations
Searing my forehead
That I promptly peel off when his back is turned.
I can't believe I used to look up to him
And play with his mustache
I thought it was the coolest thing
Bushy, furry, like an innocent kitten nestling between his nose and laughing mouth
I can't believe my mom used to fall in love with him
Because of his mustache
She used to say it tickled her all over whenever he kissed her
I can't believe my sisters wanted a guy
Who had a mustache
Just like his
All I see now
Is the greasy food that he tears apart On his furrowing, questioning mustache
As he glares back at me.
I wish I could just tear it off in one swoop.
Maybe then it will reveal the jack ass that seems to be hidden Behind that fur
That he uses to capture all the ladies.