Broken Poem by Chase Gagnon

When I was eight or nine
I started drinking
and smacking my pretend wife
when she came over to play,
me and my friends in the hood
would play cops and
serial killers
on the dark side streets
just north of Eight Mile
where the streetlights never came on
at night
where we never went back inside
to our parents, guardians,
or single mothers
who were strung out on meth
or puking up whiskey
after another man left.

My dad was always there for me though
he taught me how to love a woman
with my fist
and how to clean up her blood
after you busted her lip.
How to throw a bottle
through the window
then board it up
before the landlord started bitching.

But I don't know how to shave
change a tire
or what the difference is between a flathead
and a phillips
or even how to use a damn screwdriver
or wrench...
so tell me,
how am I supposed to fix myself
when I cant fix anything else?