Father and Son

By Vin Mahadevan

If there’s one thing my father and I have in common, 

it’s that we’re both addicted

to putting fags in our mouths.

Every night, we both sneak off to our darkened corners of the sky and 

whip out our personal vices and

Every night we flick the flame that lights the fire 

as we hastily pull ‘it’ out of our trousers and

Every night we dart our eyes around the room 

before turning the Jesus portrait face-down and

Every night as it bobs between our lips and 

as the excess spits out on our dewlaps

we wish that it was just a little bit 

longer

We both know it’s wrong;

That the church would condemn us and the neighbours 

would gasp and tell their kids to leave the room but still

Every night, we exhale 

as the cardinal sin leaves our busted lips in a long, languid, stream of white and

Every night, we hasten because:

What if he found out

The searing shame of falling 

from grace / into sin

Just like every other angel 

Every night, I’m drawn like a moth 

To the haze of heat pressed up against my lips

After all, the smoky haze that clouds my vision white

And the searing touch of fire pressing against skin can’t be easily replaced

I know that it’s easy to fall prey to your habits

But the sun tumbling out of the sky doesn’t make me a monster

Bathing under the moon simply brings out my true nature 

When the sun rises

And we as a family sit at the table

I shrug my white shirt sleeves down to hide

The moon shaped marks that still burn against my skin

And together we sit 

Two light-bringers

Who’d rather hide in the dark

Father and Son