He rubs a pinch of tobacco
In his palm and claps out
The coarse chaff.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Puts the tobacco in his
Mouth. It's midnight.
He rubs, claps, and puts it
In his mouth and abuses
My mom at night.
Clap, clap, clap in the
Dead of the night.
It's 3.15 in the morning.
The sound, slashing
The fierce dark.
Piercing through the sleep
Of mine.
Piercing through my skin.
A cold knife down my spine.
It's a masterclass on
How you ruin a young
Lad's life.
I hear my mom trying to
Hide her sobs.
In the morning, she
Looks away and doesn't
Look me in the eye.
It's sad that no one
Intervenes. It's sad days
Become years like that.
Clap, clap, clap in the
Dead of the night.
Tobacco should cause
Cancer.
But why hasn't it yet?
And thirty years go by.
My brother says how
He still grows weary upon
Hearing those claps.
I do too.
The trauma doesn't pass.
So doesn't my dad.
We go on carrying a
Broken glass in our bellies.
And clap, clap, clap..
It churns our insides
Every other night.