Spike's everything you once were,
And will never be again,
Now he's hogging your sofa,
Eating all the Wheat-A-Bix
While channel surfing,
When he isn't leaving damp towels
On the lavatory floor,
Your unwelcome guest,
His booted feet on your coffee table.

He's a man with no reflection,
Yet you see a younger self in him
With every snipe, every snark,
Every cutting, rude remark.
Was it like this for your father
Twenty years and more ago,
Once upon a time?
You'd like to wring his neck-
Not that it would silence him

Still, the vision of your two hands
Closing down upon his windpipe,
Helps, though you wonder
Would he keep calling you "old man"
Laughing at you as you squeezed?
Still you persist, asking him,
"What did you see down there?"
"How many demons do they hold?"
"Can you tell me what they did to you?"

When you ask him this last question
He sneers, calls you "old fart" while
Rudely demanding that you buy him
More fags and peanut butter,
"Make it the crunchy kind, geezer!"
The terror on his jeering face mirrors
That on yours when your father asked
You what demon did you summon,
With your worthless friends.

Silently the two of you sit there
On your old and battered couch,
Wheat-a-Bix crumbs and fag butts
Litter the floor at your feet,
Wordlessly remembering the fear,
Of something shameful done:
Yours twenty or more years ago,
His less than twenty days-
Both avoiding each other's eyes.

Spike's everything you once were,
And will never be again,
Once more he's hogging your sofa,
Eating all the Wheat-A-Bix
While channel surfing,
When he isn't leaving damp towels
On the lavatory floor,
Your unwelcome reflection,
From twenty years before.