the beginning was not
when the whiskey bottle
shattered
on the karaoke floor
or the moment we noticed
and salivated for more
or when summer sirens blew
on Terrible Tuesday
five years and nine days
before that tearful Thursday
when my mother cried out
my drunk father's name
or when the sweat from her legs
from a day at the fair
caught his old tired eyes
but failed
to reflect
what nine months would bear
it was not when you kissed me
on my birthday lips
or slapped my whiskey hand
from your zipped up intent
no, darling
that was the end
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