Saturday, September 29, 2007

Father's Day

The Father in the foxhole
Came home again, he was transformed.
The children were frightened, stay under the covers.
The father in the yard with all their clothes. The father
Vanished, mother did not say where. The baby
In the chair, the baby’s doll left sitting in the chair.
The youngest boy grew up, quietly.

This was a short line, generations tumbling.
The quiet man had his own sons. The father
Sleeping from many days on the road, we mustn’t bother him.
The boys grew like wild grass rioting in a clearing in the woods,
Those sons whose son’s leapt.

There was the Father who ran away,
The one who crawled at night, who became strange to his son.
He became twisted and crazed. He was transformed.
Dangerous, terrible and sick. The boy became quiet. The father
Outside under the orange light of the alley. He went away.
The Father went away and came home again, restored.

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