Page 20 of Crank (Crank 1)

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How was it possible?

I thought he was much better

looking, the impression

of a seven-year-old whose

daddy was the Prince

of Albuquerque.

I melted, sleet on New Mexico asphalt.

Mutual Assessment

Daddy watched the gate, listing

a bit as he hummed a bedtime

tune, withdrawn from who knows

which memory bank.

“Daddy?” Roses are red, my love.

He overlooked me like sky

above a patch of dirt,

and I realized he, too, searched

for a face suspended in yesterday.

“It’s me.” Violets are blu-oo-oo.

Peculiar eyes, blue-speckled

green like extravagant eggs,

met my own pale aquamarine.

Assessing. Doubt gnawing.

“Hey.” Sugar is … Kristina?

He hugged me, too tightly. Nasty

odors gulped. Marlboros. Jack

Daniels. Straightforward B.O.

Not like Scott’s ever-clean smell.

I can’t believe how

much you’ve grown!

“It’s been eight

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