My Old Man*

My Old Man (A four part poem)

For Jack

August 1910-October 1993

 

I

My old man

Kept falling now and then

 

And then now and more and more

That son of a bitch

Death

Kept tripping him

 

Though at first he bobbed up

Like a buoy

 

Later he lingered

Caressed the carpeted floor

Felt cool fibers

Against leatherskin.

 

 

II

He’s not supposed to be here

Having  slipped by the passage more than once

Sticking his head in

Realizing

Pulling his head out

Before the door slammed shut.

 

Agile: he tricked death

But like any trick

It was short lived.

 

 

III

No smiles, get the picture?

Harder work than digging post holes

To sit on the side of the bed.

More effort that a heavyweight ten rounder

To sip the broth

To nibble on tasteless favorites from the past.

While some impatient mindless moron

Scolds soundly, loudly (with his best interest at heart)

“Come on now, you’ve got to eat you know.”

 

He moans at the enormity

Building his great wall every day.

 

 

IV

Let me take your hammer father

Let me hang it by the workbench

Between two nails you put in place.

Gaze serenely at your workmanship.

Be satisfied and

Sleep.