she ragged him all the way
snip voice
full of f’s & c’s
on his inadequacies
& then later
he fell asleep
arms wrapped around
her considerable charms
to dream
of his mother
his father
passing a straight razor
between them
to wake wondering
what all of that
meant
I got concerns she said
all solemn on a Sunday afternoon
we’re not adventurous
not going at it
like we did before
hows’about we mix it up some?
& you have to try a little
when stuff like that gets said
the underlay being she’s bored
specifically with you
& later not that much later
I slapped her ass
grabbed her hair
said: now who’s your daddy?
she took a breath at that
I actually have a father
& I do not need another
ok?
I felt crystal clear then
time would not be
weighing out
on my side
I worked with her dad
now deceased
some years ago
& she has just found out
he was not her biological father
& wishes to know stuff
I tell her he loved her
what else is there?
her mothers’ infidelity
that he bore it well?
but she wants answers
I suggest she talk to her mother
but that don’t sit right
somehow
I just want to talk with him
she goes
& I gently suggest
your mother is the actor
in all of this
go ask her
she gets all upset she says
but no
she loved her dad the best
& wants to know
more
from the one who
stayed silent so long
being the
smuggled bird in the nest
my mother ran away
when I was a toddler
& later they told me
as if that was not enough
I was not my fathers son
leaving me the cuckoo
struggling in their nest
an orphan with parents
doing their best
to convince me
that I was the mad one
the cuckoo bird
that didn’t belong
my father there
at the end
red rose on the coffin
all that jazz
people at the funeral
talking up the man
one guy there
worked with the old man 30 years
never knew he had kids
tho’ he’d been to the house
many times over their friendship
I guess like us all
he’d mellowed in his years
but y’have to comprehend
there was something
had made my mother leave
holding us two kids
while she skipped away
with what she can
& I have no memory
being held in love
only hurts from those big hands
I guess we made our peace
finding some grudging tolerance
in the each of each other
we could never understand
nothing to say
no bragging rights here
& all this is
a conversation between adults about parents
grandparents longevity life
& all I can do is to fall silent
an absent father
now dead
abandoning mother
dead for five years before I found that out
a half brother who never speaks
a half sister who will not speak
to talk of this is to drown out others stories
highlight the missing in mine
better to fall silent
for the scratched scab to itch later
as the clock crawls to four
too many years much effort was spent
being different to my dad
whatever he originated
I did the opposite
to never be the same as him
until I got the good advice
you will never be you
until you fully accept how much of him
is in you
is you
& that required thought
decided the way through
I spent a weekend being my forebear
doing everything in the way of him
impersonating my pere all the ways I could
channelling the energy the drive
his half chuckle
that I found to be nerves in a crowd
the half dance he did on the spot
waiting for the phone
to connect
hiding behind the door in company
doing the dishes while listening to every word
to be around but not in conversations going
& found much that I am my father
my dad is in me
& by the end of the weekend
I began to see the real differences
between me & my originator
how I shy from crowds people
but also i
can be there expressing my thoughts
in a room of friends
open to feelings
& fully present
as me
