perhappened mag
issue 2: ROAD TRIP
triangulation
NICK CREEL
CW: domestic/child abuse, suicidal ideation, substance abuse, parental incarceration
My father started the road trip
Like any, with a bang, harsh words
Where are my fucking keys bitch?
Suddenly I regretted living,
Wondered why I hadn’t
Dropped off the face of the earth
Before he soured. I drove out of
The arching woods towards north
Two hours late. In Georgia he spoke
Of Talladega like the Parthenon.
My father wants to join NASCAR
In my '97 Camry but he drives
Carefully. When I was a kid he’d
Buy beers from the corner store
And drink them on the way home.
His beer cost less than a dollar.
He didn’t drink when we crossed
The Virginia state line, bought snow tires,
Meandered down the highway to the local
Chipotle and grabbed a bite while waiting
I bought headphones at Ross–
I don’t remember what he got.
I remembered his drinking stories
Where he careened his Iroc into
The creek after chugging whiskey.
In Massachusetts he told me his
Father beat the shit out of him
Regularly. I felt deep pity and
Bitterness. My father was never
By my side. In Boston we said
Goodbye; in the summer he
Was arrested. I remembered his
Earlier absences and wondered
What was worse.
Like any, with a bang, harsh words
Where are my fucking keys bitch?
Suddenly I regretted living,
Wondered why I hadn’t
Dropped off the face of the earth
Before he soured. I drove out of
The arching woods towards north
Two hours late. In Georgia he spoke
Of Talladega like the Parthenon.
My father wants to join NASCAR
In my '97 Camry but he drives
Carefully. When I was a kid he’d
Buy beers from the corner store
And drink them on the way home.
His beer cost less than a dollar.
He didn’t drink when we crossed
The Virginia state line, bought snow tires,
Meandered down the highway to the local
Chipotle and grabbed a bite while waiting
I bought headphones at Ross–
I don’t remember what he got.
I remembered his drinking stories
Where he careened his Iroc into
The creek after chugging whiskey.
In Massachusetts he told me his
Father beat the shit out of him
Regularly. I felt deep pity and
Bitterness. My father was never
By my side. In Boston we said
Goodbye; in the summer he
Was arrested. I remembered his
Earlier absences and wondered
What was worse.
Nick Creel is a poet and web developer currently sheltering-in-place and petting cats in Massachusetts. Their interactive chapbook Evidence is available now at ncreel.itch.io/evidence. Their work is forthcoming and appears in Rejection Letters, ang(st) zine, Petrichor, Déraciné Magazine, and Mineral Lit Mag, among others.