El Jefe


image from pixabay

You always smelled of whiskey,
cheap cigarettes, and fragile male ego.
You strutted your stuff
trying to prove
that you were The Boss
even though you couldn’t
manage yourself.

And yet, there was something
sweet about you,
like a lost little boy who was
determined to find
his own way home,
afraid to ask for help
because everything was always
transactional; tit for tat.

Those who struggle
to love you despite yourself
tell tales
of your greatness,
spun from your lies and
their own battered wishes
of who you could be.
Bon voyage, Jefe. May you find Peace.

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