they loved him

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