When I see your son: Two Letters

When I see your son

When I see your son,
I see a flicker of light in his eyes,
but shadows lurk behind them
waiting to douse the flame.
In your drunken stupor,
you back him into corners,
no place to go but trouble
no home to go but yours.

If he leaves, you call him a runaway
if he stays, he fears you’ll fight.
He’ll say or do things he’ll regret
or hear things he worries he can't forgive.
Where can he go, your son?
You’re not there, even when you are.
Without you, he’ll survive, but you’re always around,
a drink in one hand, the other in a fist.

When he sees you,
he sees empty promises, broken commitments,
the other shoe he knows will fall.
He’s damned if he does, and if he doesn’t.
And you stand there, a smug look on your face,
phone to your ear, police on the way,
he reminds you of his father.
Or could it be your father

ashamed of you, what you’ve become,
each beer, a knife in his chest,
jagged, twisted, over and over.
respect has long been absent.
When I see you, I see a mere shadow
lurking, waiting to extinguish his flame,
and I know it’s been a long time
since you felt the warmth of your fire. 

When I saw your son today,
I saw a life yet unlived,
potential yet unreached,
but there was still that light, the flame
still flickering, still yearning,
for another chance at childhood.
He's still eager to prove he's so much more
than what stands before you when you see your son.

When I see your son: Twenty years later

When I see your son,
I see a man on eggshells.
Emotions are a foreign land
where secrets go unshared, still buried,
and family codes remain unbroken.
He’s always waiting for the other shoe to fall.

When I’m with your son
there’s tension below the surface;
to him, suggestions feel like insults,
questions feel like interrogations,
caresses are suspect.  He wants to know
what I want in return, what’s the catch.

But above the surface, he's a good father and husband,
astonished at the wonder of his sons,
and baffled at how you could allow
your own needs to bury the needs of your children.
As he hears the laughter of his little ones,
he can’t imagine how that beautiful sound could pale

in comparison to the amber liquid that that fulfills you,
so much that the very sight of your son
becomes a painful reminder of your own insecurity.
The other day, he asked why you court your death like a bashful geisha,
hiding your face behind a fan while you stand naked,
daring to be used up, devoured; but too afraid to watch.

When I see your son, your grandsons,
I want desperately to help you understand
that they are watching; and one day the fan will fall
and your actions will not go unnoticed,
But that is an empty threat, isn’t it?
You won’t be alive long enough to see the ripples,

your actions, like pebbles, have put into motion
with every sip from your liquid companion.

___________________________________________________________________
Below (second version) is a rendition used for an outside contest. 
More condensed but the same words.
The third version is the original one. 
___________________________________________________________________
When I See Your Son: Two Letters

A letter from a teenage boy’s social worker
When I see your son, I see a flicker of light in his eyes,
but shadows lurk behind them waiting to douse the flame.
In your drunken stupor, you back him into corners.
No place to go but trouble, no home to go but yours.
Where can he go, your son? Without you, he’ll survive,
but you’re always around, a drink in one hand, the other in a fist. 

When he sees you, he sees empty promises, broken commitments,
the other shoe he knows will fall.  He’s damned if he does, and if he doesn’t.
And you stand there, a smug look on your face, calling the cops,
thinking of how much he reminds you of his father, or could it be your father
ashamed of you, what you’ve become, each drink, a jagged knife in his chest,
twisting over and over.  His respect and yours has long been absent.

When I see you, I see a mere shadow lurking, waiting to extinguish his flame,
and I know it’s been a long time since you felt the warmth of your own fire. 
When I saw your son today, I saw a life yet unlived, potential yet unreached,
but there was still that light, the flame still flickering, still yearning,
for another chance at childhood.  He's still eager to prove he's so much more
than what stands before you when you see your son.

A letter from a daughter-in-law 
When I see your son, I see a man on eggshells.  Emotions,
a foreign land where secrets go unshared, still buried, and family codes
remain unbroken.  He’s always waiting for the other shoe to fall. 
When I’m with your son, there’s tension beneath the surface. 
To him, suggestions are complaints, questions feel like interrogations,
favors are suspect.  He wants to know what I want in return, what’s the catch.

But above the surface, he's a good father and husband,
astonished at the wonder of his sons, and baffled at how you
could allow your own needs to bury the needs of your family. 
When he’s with his sons, and hears their infectious laughter, 
he can’t imagine how that beautiful sound could pale
in comparison to the amber liquid that that fulfills you.

When you see your son, does his face remind you
of your own insecurity? He asked me once
why you court your death like a bashful geisha,
hiding your face behind a fan while you stand
naked, daring to be used up, devoured;
but too afraid to watch. 

When I see your son, your grandsons, I pray they choose
a different path.  I want to help you understand that they are
watching you.  One day the fan will fall, and your actions
will not go unnoticed.  But that is an empty threat, isn’t it?
You won’t be alive long enough to see the ripples, your actions like
pebbles, have put into motion with every sip from your liquid companion.

_____________________________________________________________
Above is the condensed version for an outside poetry competition. 
I almost think I like it better.  What do you think?
_____________________________________________________________


Original version below.

WHEN I SEE YOUR SON


1.
The Teenage Years:
A Letter To An Alcoholic Mother

When I see your son,
I see a flicker of light in his eyes.
But shadows lurk behind them
Waiting to douse the flame.

In your drunken stupor,
You back him into corners,
No place to go but trouble
No home to go but yours.

Leave and you call him a runaway
Stay, and he fears you’ll fight.
He fears he’ll say or do things he’ll regret
Or hear things he worries he can't forgive.

Where can he go, your son?
You’re not there, even when you are.
Without you, he’ll survive, but you’re always around,
A beer in one hand, the other in a fist.

When he sees you, his mother,
He sees empty promises, broken commitments,
The other shoe he always knew would fall
He’s damned if he does, and if he doesn’t.

And you stand there, a smug look on your face,
Phone to your ear, police on the way.
He reminds you of his father,
Or could it be your father

Ashamed of you, what you’ve become,
Each beer, a knife in his chest,
Jagged, twisted, over and over.
Respect has long been absent.

When I see you, I see a mere shadow,
Lurking, waiting to extinguish his flame.
And I know it’s been a long time
Since you felt the warmth of your fire. 

When you decided your liquid children
Were more precious than the flesh ones.
'I can’t handle him anymore, take him", you plead
As you savored the sweet aroma of another drink.

When I saw your son today,
I saw a life yet unlived,
Potential yet unreached,
But there was still that light, the flame

Still flickering, still yearning,
For a whole mother, another chance at childhood.
He's still eager to prove he's so much more
Than what stands before you

When you see your son.

2
“All Grown Up”
To the alcoholic father of a husband

When I see your son,
I see a man on eggshells
Emotions, a foreign land,
Where secrets go unshared, still buried,
Family codes, still unbroken,
Still waiting for the other shoe to fall.

When I’m with your son
There’s tension below the surface.
Suggestions feel like insults,
Questions feel like interrogations,
Caresses are suspect.  He wants to know
What I want in return, what’s the catch?

But above the surface, he's a good father and husband,
Astonished at the wonder of his sons,
And baffled at how a father could allow
His own needs to bury the needs of a child of his own.
And as he hears the laughter of his little ones,
He can’t imagine how that beautiful sound could pale

In comparison to the amber liquid that that fulfills you.
So that the very sight of your son
Becomes a painful reminder of your own insecurity.
The other day, he asked why you court your death like a bashful geisha,
Hiding your face behind a fan while you stand naked,
Daring to be used up, devoured; but too afraid to watch.

When I see your son, your grandsons,
I want desperately to make you understand
That they are watching; and one day the fan will fall
And your actions will not go unnoticed,
But we all know that's an empty threat.
You won’t be around long enough to see the ripples,

Your actions, like pebbles, have put into motion
With every sip from your liquid companion.


SWPoet