Salem

by John Attanas 

In the dining room
of the Holiday Inn,
Salem, Massachusetts,
Dad has just ordered
a third vodka martini.
Pretty soon
the yelling will start.
Pretty soon
Mom will escape
to our room,
lamb chop untouched,
slam the bathroom door,
throw a Gideon Bible,
weep that I am
the only good thing
to come out
of their marriage.
Dad will head
to the bar,
get into a
fight about
politics or God,
collapse in the hall
lips laced with vomit.

The next day
we will visit
the chotchke shops,
hear tales of
witches and goblins.
Mom will buy me
an overpriced
Ice cream cone.
Dad will search in vain
for a bar.
No one will
speak of what
happened although
the tension is
heavier than the
rocks on
Giles Corey’s chest.
I promise myself
when I grow up
I will never
go on vacation.

John Attanas is a writer and teacher living in New York City. his poetry has been published in Promethean, Mistake House, Steam Ticket, The Marbled Sigh, Abandoned Mine, and The Raven’s Perch. He recently received an MFA from the City College of New York.