Twelve years old,
Asked a question:

“Dad, what would you do if I was gay?”

“I’d kill you. 
That’s sick.
I’d disown you.”

The death of trust isn’t silent.
It sounds like tension and tires
rolling toward home.
But it lives behind the eyelids,
waiting for closing time, 
every single night.

Now alone in confusion,
brace for the years ahead, kid.