Let's workshop this poem about how a son would prank his inebriated father, tormenting the man on physical and mental and emotional levels as a way to feel in control (in an out-of-control milieu).
scent of the day: Interlude Man (2017 batch), by Amouage(a resinous oud and frankincense fragrance that, however unapologetic in its loudness, would have been a standard oriental (instead of the infamous “Blue Beast” that it is) were it not for the chaos of herbs and spices (pimento berry, turmeric, allspice, and most notably oregano) that help set the tone of a hazy opium den: a burning bundle of sandalwood and dried rosemary and thyme and so on wafted, as if it were incense in some liturgical ritual to summon biblical demons, over a creamy-leather and sweet-myrrh baseline)
The Tooth
For Dad
1
The snap-sizz of a match, the rasp-click of a Bic—
these were rare compared to the crack-fizz of a can.
Five-six and bald since twenty, he chain-smoked
even through his infrequent meals, lighting up
the next Newport 100 from the previous butt.
“Daddy’s got what they call ‘an oral fixation,’"
he would slur back to my coughs. The drinking
bothered me most, though. “Daddy’s got a thirst.”
My nagging-wife tears futile, his swear-on-me
promises to quit the beer broken, too many
times—a fierce thirst to fuck with my father
moon-flowered (like that older thirst for Pepsi
to wash down Doritos, Slim Jims, Ring Dings
in my transfixion before junk TV), having eyed
him years at the kitchen-living-bedroom table,
done in daily by his go-to case of Natural Ice.
Frisbeeing bologna on his big head as he snored
adenoidal arpeggios in cruel oblivion on the floor
(bullseyes landing in minuscule splats); piling
boardgames and phonebooks on his chest-face
(cans, lit candles, stacked in undulant precarity);
pinching shut his nose, mouth, to silence those
apneic rattles that eclipsed, as if on purpose,
my shouts of “Dad, go to the damn couch!”)—
such sweet-caffeinated sips of prankery came
before tolerance to their effects. That went
too for the time I had sharpied a clown face
on him, black angles sharp around the mouth
and eyes, which in the new sun (nickels still
stuck to his gut after his morning piss) I said
he had drawn to amuse me and had me try
to scrub off with the green part of the sponge).
2
Programs on Lifetime, the network he favored
while building up for the floor, only refined—
with their “Mommy loved me too little, Daddy
too much”—the mental slant of my mischief.
Lie in ambush I would, for that sweet spot just
before the floor. Then with histrionic sincerity,
intonation matched to an after-school-special
(“Where’d you learn to smoke this reefer, Son?”
“From watching you, Dad!”), I would take on
a look of too-sad-to-snack dejection and go,
at a commercial break, something like: “Dad,
can I—? No. It’s okay. Never mind.” Eyes up
at the nicotined stalactites, this would suffice
to draw him in. “S’matter, Boy? Tell Daddy.”
“I’m havin’—well, problems. Back home.
At Mommy’s.—I, I don’t know. It’s fine.”
He would have had me mute the TV, brow
furrowed to match my drama, mouth slack,
beady eyes befuddled, concentration quivery
versus the pull of inebriation: “The fuck” (said
slowly) “you talkin’, Boy?” Hands over my face,
to hide chuckles and to insinuate how deep
this likely goes, my go-to move would be: “Well,
after—. After, he says, well, never to tell or—.
I, I, I don’—.” “This fuckin’ for real, boy? Don’t
tell me no lies.” “I’m not allowed to tell. Okay!?
He says, if I tell, ‘it’ll break, it’ll break—our, our
little secret.” “Our little fuckin’ secret!? The fuck!?”
“He says it’s just for us. I can’t even tell Mommy.”
“Mahfucka. Say what’s going on, Son. Mikey!”
“I’m telling lies,” I would say, wiping fake tears,
twisting chuckles into sniffles. “Forget it, Dad.”
I would clam up at this point. He would go from
sobbing to smashing his beer-can castle (“Touch
my son! Kill that bitch”), back to sobbing, soon
to dream murmurs despite a Newport burning
his insensate pointer (hooked rigid by a steel pin
until death). “It’s just—” I would say, prodding
his gut to stop the throaty snores, “it doesn’t feel
right. Dad, I don’t want any more ‘love games.’”
3
One weekend night, my father sat groaning
about his tooth. “Gonna yank this bitch!”
he repeated. “You can’t do that,” I insisted,
his repetitions finally having broken through
my concentration on my own consumptions.
Tone roused again to after-school hyperbole,
“Dad,” I baited, “you need a dentist for that.”
“Shiiit! Daddy don’t need no dentist, Boy.”
“Pull your own tooth? Without medicine?” Beer
held high, “Pop’s medicine,” he said and sang
his version of Domino’s “Sweet Potato Pie”:
“I’m all fucked up and I don’t know why.
Feeling kinda freaky, that’s no lie.” “No way,”
I cut in. “Daddy don’t lie to his son.” A junky
at ten, toying with prey (like bored housecats)
was a natural response to the weakening highs.
So instead of jumping right to “Prove it, then,”
I fell into brooding silence, until just before
uvular flapping. “I know it all,” I said, decibel
for outdoors. “Stop faking. Mom told me.”
His grimace again one of wobbly perplexity,
“Fakin’? What shit your mom been talkin’?”
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change things.”
“You idiot. Make no goddamn sense, Boy.”
“I know. Okay!? You’re not my dad.” Cheeks
risen, squinting out sight and baring top teeth,
“What!?” he said. “Tired of these goddamn
mind games.” But having had soaked in tales
he would never have thought he had told me—
banging wives of impotent men for pay or, key
here, fresh from the Corps saving my soon mom
from Chris, a biker boyfriend—I had an angle.
“She told me everything. She took me to see
my real dad. He’s okay, I guess. It’s more fun
with you, th—.” “Who the fuck we talkin’ ’bout?”
“He told me I don’t have to call him ‘Dad’ yet.
I can just call him ‘Chris’ for now, or just ‘Mr.,
Mr. Condon.’ He took me on his motorcycle!”
“Watch what you say, cause I’ll kill the bitch.
Shiiit. Look at you, Boy. You Istvan clan!”
“I don’t want you hurting yourself if you’re not
my dad,” I said to get us back on track. His face
scrunched. “What you talkin’?” “If you’re not
my dad you don’t have to prove anything by, by
pulling your tooth.” “I am your dad! If I love ya.”
He raised the hook forever fused to that phrase.
“And ain’t got shit to prove. Bitch’ll get yanked
real quick, Boy!” “You sure you’re my dad—
enough to pull your tooth!?” “You don’t know
shiiit. Get those fuckers.” His chin flicked up
to the linesman pliers on the TV. Blue-handles
grease-stained (since I was the channel turner),
he raised them as if at the end of a toast, “If I’m
your father,” and went right to wriggling work,
wrenching the molar out, long roots barnacled.
Linoleum splattered red, “If I love ya!” he said.
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)
The Tooth presents a raw, visceral portrayal of a strained father-son relationship, shaped by addiction, violence, and a quest for validation. The poem is divided into three sections, each depicting different moments of emotional manipulation, cruel humor, and desperation, where the son—both victim and instigator—comes to terms with his father’s self-destructive behavior while grappling with his own emerging sense of identity and power.
The first section introduces the father’s addictions, presenting them as a backdrop to the son’s childhood. The father’s "oral fixation" manifests in chain-smoking and excessive drinking, both of which the son observes with a mixture of frustration and fascination. The vivid imagery of the father’s substance abuse—Newport 100s lit in succession, cases of Natural Ice consumed daily—sets the tone for the chaotic and dysfunctional dynamic between father and son. The son’s response is initially one of rebellion, expressed through pranks that, although humorous on the surface, hint at a deeper desire for control and revenge against a father who has repeatedly broken promises to quit drinking. The pranks evolve from lighthearted actions like throwing bologna on his sleeping father to darker, more demeaning acts, such as drawing a clown face on him while unconscious. This escalation mirrors the son’s increasing frustration with his father’s inability to change, as well as his own growing thirst for power over the man who once held authority in his life.
The second section delves deeper into the psychological complexity of their relationship. The son uses emotional manipulation to toy with his father’s guilt, constructing false narratives of abuse in order to provoke a reaction. The son’s performance, laden with after-school-special-style dialogue, showcases the depth of his cunning as he exploits his father’s drunken state. The father, despite his inebriation, is drawn in by the son’s fabricated stories, falling into a state of protective rage, sobbing and threatening to kill the imaginary abuser. This scene is both tragic and darkly comedic, as the father’s genuine concern is met with the son’s insincere playacting. The son’s need to provoke an emotional response from his father reveals a deeper longing for attention and validation, even if it means manipulating the man who is already emotionally fragile. The son’s fabricated accusations of "love games" reflect the blurred boundaries between affection, manipulation, and violence that characterize their relationship.
In the final section, the poem reaches its climax with the father’s self-inflicted tooth extraction. The scene is charged with a sense of masochistic pride as the father, goaded by his son’s taunts, proves his love and paternity by pulling out his own molar with a pair of linesman pliers. The son’s manipulation in this moment is both calculated and cruel, as he questions his father’s identity and challenges him to prove his worth. The father’s response—“If I love ya!”—is both a declaration of affection and a submission to the son’s power, as he mutilates himself to affirm his paternal role. The violent act of tooth-pulling becomes a grotesque metaphor for the father’s desperation to hold onto his place in his son’s life, even at the cost of physical pain and humiliation. The linoleum splattered with blood serves as a stark visual representation of the emotional carnage that has been building throughout the poem.
Throughout The Tooth, the son’s relationship with his father is marked by a complex interplay of love, resentment, and power. The son’s pranks and manipulations are not merely acts of rebellion but expressions of a deeper desire for control in a world where the father’s addictions and failures have rendered him powerless. The father, in turn, is portrayed as a tragic figure, both complicit in his own downfall and desperate for his son’s approval, even if it means self-destruction. The poem captures the cyclical nature of their dysfunction, where love is intertwined with cruelty, and validation is sought through pain. The repeated phrase, "If I love ya," underscores the father’s desperate need to prove his worth through extreme actions, while the son’s calculated manipulation reveals his growing understanding of the power dynamics at play.
Ultimately, The Tooth offers a stark commentary on the complexities of familial relationships, where love is often expressed through violence, manipulation, and self-sacrifice. The poem’s visceral imagery and dark humor amplify the emotional intensity of the father-son dynamic, leaving the reader to grapple with the unsettling nature of their bond.
Fuck is clicking a heart icon in anyway akin to the feeling of reading this?
The Tooth presents a raw, visceral portrayal of a strained father-son relationship, shaped by addiction, violence, and a quest for validation. The poem is divided into three sections, each depicting different moments of emotional manipulation, cruel humor, and desperation, where the son—both victim and instigator—comes to terms with his father’s self-destructive behavior while grappling with his own emerging sense of identity and power.
The first section introduces the father’s addictions, presenting them as a backdrop to the son’s childhood. The father’s "oral fixation" manifests in chain-smoking and excessive drinking, both of which the son observes with a mixture of frustration and fascination. The vivid imagery of the father’s substance abuse—Newport 100s lit in succession, cases of Natural Ice consumed daily—sets the tone for the chaotic and dysfunctional dynamic between father and son. The son’s response is initially one of rebellion, expressed through pranks that, although humorous on the surface, hint at a deeper desire for control and revenge against a father who has repeatedly broken promises to quit drinking. The pranks evolve from lighthearted actions like throwing bologna on his sleeping father to darker, more demeaning acts, such as drawing a clown face on him while unconscious. This escalation mirrors the son’s increasing frustration with his father’s inability to change, as well as his own growing thirst for power over the man who once held authority in his life.
The second section delves deeper into the psychological complexity of their relationship. The son uses emotional manipulation to toy with his father’s guilt, constructing false narratives of abuse in order to provoke a reaction. The son’s performance, laden with after-school-special-style dialogue, showcases the depth of his cunning as he exploits his father’s drunken state. The father, despite his inebriation, is drawn in by the son’s fabricated stories, falling into a state of protective rage, sobbing and threatening to kill the imaginary abuser. This scene is both tragic and darkly comedic, as the father’s genuine concern is met with the son’s insincere playacting. The son’s need to provoke an emotional response from his father reveals a deeper longing for attention and validation, even if it means manipulating the man who is already emotionally fragile. The son’s fabricated accusations of "love games" reflect the blurred boundaries between affection, manipulation, and violence that characterize their relationship.
In the final section, the poem reaches its climax with the father’s self-inflicted tooth extraction. The scene is charged with a sense of masochistic pride as the father, goaded by his son’s taunts, proves his love and paternity by pulling out his own molar with a pair of linesman pliers. The son’s manipulation in this moment is both calculated and cruel, as he questions his father’s identity and challenges him to prove his worth. The father’s response—“If I love ya!”—is both a declaration of affection and a submission to the son’s power, as he mutilates himself to affirm his paternal role. The violent act of tooth-pulling becomes a grotesque metaphor for the father’s desperation to hold onto his place in his son’s life, even at the cost of physical pain and humiliation. The linoleum splattered with blood serves as a stark visual representation of the emotional carnage that has been building throughout the poem.
Throughout The Tooth, the son’s relationship with his father is marked by a complex interplay of love, resentment, and power. The son’s pranks and manipulations are not merely acts of rebellion but expressions of a deeper desire for control in a world where the father’s addictions and failures have rendered him powerless. The father, in turn, is portrayed as a tragic figure, both complicit in his own downfall and desperate for his son’s approval, even if it means self-destruction. The poem captures the cyclical nature of their dysfunction, where love is intertwined with cruelty, and validation is sought through pain. The repeated phrase, "If I love ya," underscores the father’s desperate need to prove his worth through extreme actions, while the son’s calculated manipulation reveals his growing understanding of the power dynamics at play.
Ultimately, The Tooth offers a stark commentary on the complexities of familial relationships, where love is often expressed through violence, manipulation, and self-sacrifice. The poem’s visceral imagery and dark humor amplify the emotional intensity of the father-son dynamic, leaving the reader to grapple with the unsettling nature of their bond.
father-son relationship, addiction, manipulation, self-destruction, power dynamics, oral fixation, familial dysfunction, emotional manipulation, tooth-pulling, dark humor, violence, paternal love, visceral imagery.