Retired Poem

This is another of my poems that don't fit anywhere but here on this blog. I have more of these than I care to admit at this time.

This one I've thought of quite a bit since my Dad died. I was talking with a new friend about a poem I posted years ago--later published in Shampoo--concerning both my parents and the struggle I was going through involving them and the girlfriend I was with several years ago. I address a lot of things, but my Dad was the main target for reasons I won't get into here.

I'm sad that 1) the poem in Shampoo is one of the better ones I've written, and 2) I've yet to write any tribute poems for my family--particularly my Dad--that I'm really, really, pleased with. I'm glad that one I'm relatively happy with was published--here in Spoonful--and seen by my Dad before he died, but I wish I had written more for him and my Mom. I'm in the process of rectifying that now, but in the meantime, I want to post the poem below, which I wrote in reaction to the poem in Shampoo.

It doesn't work as a true companion piece, really. Too prosey, literal and uninteresting. Also too jarring, the way I change the POV over to the parents. Still, it serves a the reaction piece my parents weren't able to write, not being poets. I hope you'll indulge me.


He Says He’ll Tell Us When
We’re Older and He’s Dead


Even back in Boston, his face becomes
a padlock to us, still fearing us the most
in conversation, even with her gone.
He’s his proudest and his strongest
when help finally arrives. We’d be less worried
if this were an act and not truly a first
successful act of strength since the week before,
telling us to touch nothing,
telling us that he can reassemble
his life, a task equal to reforming
a house burnt to ash with a hurricane
spreading it across states—no wonder
he’s so numb. The parts that still feel
weren’t packed in the first truck up.
No wonder he insists that he can wait
until he can afford a second move by himself.
He turns down all offers of money, with a hero’s pose,
and asks for food instead.