Dear tome with pages,
List of things father has broken today in his drunken stupor:
- Glass pane of his bedroom window
- Clay jar filled with dried rosemary
- His own forehead
- Customer's nose
- Customer's faith in the race of Men
- His own knuckles
- The last crumb of his dignity
- The portrait he had poorly painted of mother two decades ago
- My patience
If only he would die already.
