Maybe a Metaphor

There’s a stain on the bed
From a nosebleed I received
From a boy with a toy gun
Who just happened to be
The son of my father.
Why is it that fathers
Buy their sons toy guns
And their daughters affection…
In big yellow boxes
Like the color of the counter
Where I sat with ice on my nose
Careful not to drip
The Double Chocolate Fudge Cone
Daddy bought to hide the nosebleed.

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