Type 2
04/28/2026 14:58h
When I wake, this is what I tell myself:
I belong to this, to all the ghosts present
in the DNA. Diabetes,
an ancient Greek consort, sweeps through the halls
of my body. It seems the proper gift
from my father, memory locked down in the cells
of my bladder. Frequent urination
is a hard nag to beat. My body
is my father's complaint. He rings at two
in the morning. A piss in the pot, a shot
in the dark. He's never too far away.