You patched the wall
above your favorite
TV watching chair
but it is a dull scraped
scar; it draws the eye
like light glint on armor.
There, on the day my father
died, after I asked to sit
in your house, to not
be alone, there, on the day
you were fired from
another patched in job
that that woman I hate
recommended, there
is where your fist broke
plaster before it broke
against my jaw.
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