Tony Gloeggler: Some of the Things

I am trying to explain 

the difference between 

actual facts and the truth

to a schoolyard friend 

who read one of my poems

online. I tell him no, 

my Dad never hit my mother.

I made that up to make 

the poem stronger, create 

tension, darkening danger. 

He rarely even hit me. Maybe 

a handful of times, open 

handed smacks that stung. 

I’d hold back tears until 

I went upstairs, flung myself 

on my bed, convinced 

I deserved it. Mostly, his look

was enough to keep me in place,

scare me straight. I remember 

he once had my brother strip 

to his briefs in the living room.

John was blaming our broken

basement window on older kids

playing stickball in the street,

but there was no way a Spaldeen

could make a sharp left turn

off Reeves Avenue, fly 5 houses 

down the block and smash 

the glass while mom put

wet clothes in the dryer. 

My father kept asking 

are you sure, you sure

you didn’t break it, playing 

catch-a-fly off the Packers’

roof across the yard. My mom 

and me were rooting 

for John to tell the truth, 

thinking he would get off

with a painless punishment, 

but my brother went down

with the lie, took a whipping.

I followed him to our room,

shook my head, laughed.

.

I don’t know what my friend

thinks, whether he still views 

my father as the coolest dad 

on the block, friendly and funny 

in his cutting way, pitching 

windmill during softball picnic

games, striking everybody out,

asking him to stay for supper 

when mom cooked spaghetti 

and meat balls, stuffed Braciole 

instead of the egg noodles 

his Jewish mom covered 

with steamy ketchup or the wife 

beater appearing in my poem?

Does he wonder why I write 

some of the things I do? Does he

remember Bean and his orange,

souped-up Camaro? His father 

regularly slapped his mom 

around. Whenever Bean heard 

high pitched yelling or low moan

crying from their bedroom, 

he burrowed in the basement 

or took the dog for a slow walk. 

Bean once told me, he never 

hit a woman, as if it was a big

accomplishment. I looked 

away as he went on, said 

it never made him think 

any less of his father, that 

he was still his only hero.

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Copyright 2024 Tony Gloeggler

Tony Gloeggler’s books include What Kind of Man (NYQ Books, 2020). He is a life-long resident of New York City.