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Knowing

it was a strange place
for a revelation, that boisterous boat
with its mouse ear smokestacks
teeming with hundreds
of laughing, squealing children,
parents bedraggled but happy
to have a cocktail in hand
while their progeny played
with Donald Duck and Cinderella—
still— the knowing came,
as I heard you for the umpteenth time
cuss out Mickey and me, as I saw
yet again your hunched shoulders weighted
as if you wore a concrete backpack
you couldn’t unburden
even as our kids beamed and giggled
Look at me, Dad! and I,
miscast as a Disney princess,
coddled and cajoled but made things worse,
the pain un-healable in our home,
on this boat, anywhere—
our love so wrecked
I knew that nothing,
not even a Magic Kingdom,
could save us.

Ann Weil is a retired teacher from Ann Arbor, Michigan. Look for her work in Crab Creek Review, The Indianapolis Review, Third Wednesday, Eastern Iowa Review, and Shooter Literary Magazine. She earned her doctorate from the University of Michigan and writes poetry for obvious reasons: glory and big bucks. 

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