DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE Poem: Hey Asshole, by Jenni Frank

Hey asshole, you left an open bag of chips in my car
and they’ve scattered everywhere.

By “Hey asshole” I mean
Dear son
Sweet child
Nearly independent offspring who I love more than air.

And by “an open bag of chips” I mean
an open bag of chips
because not everything is a metaphor.

This particular non-metaphor has spilled all over my car and
I am non-metaphorically angry about it.

But when I weigh the new need to vacuum my floorboards
against the fact that you are likely leaving soon, I soften.

This is the pattern lately;

My low-grade chip bag
or laundry on the floor
you left all the lights on
dishes in the sink
frustrations falter in the shadow of days peeling from calendar pages
bringing us closer to your exodus.

Annoyances leveled by the memory of your young childhood voice
toddler bed nighttime routines
1,000 unnecessary plastic items purchased for your delight over the years
the way we used to bump our hips together when we’d stand next to each other
because it used to be I wasn’t so much shorter than you.

Hey asshole, I joke
because as nearly a man now you can take
my particular brand of humor,
even dish it back to me
like you’re trying adulthood on for size.

Hey asshole,
because we can admit that sometimes you are
and sometimes so am I
and we can see each other for who we are
not just for the genetics we share.

And, let’s be honest,
chip bags and laundry and lights on and dishes aside
you are not an asshole at all,
you are my son
and I love you fiercely
which won’t end when you move out.

Meanwhile, go vacuum my car.