Unplanned Poetry - My Dad 1910-1996

My Dad

old school
unwavering
then softened
but for a moment

whatever needed
to be done
was
done
perhaps
a game
of golf
then feet up
newspapers opened
tv news
or detectives
on the case,
a few hands of cards
a word or two
with us
breakfast
lunch
and
dinner
no extravagance there
(unless you count the
oyster stew
only once or twice
a year, when
want
overrode
practicality)

quiet
but not
withdrawn
until life sucked
him
inside
bit by bit
as
Alzheimers
ran
its course.

MeeAugraphie
06/19/07

My words, my dad. No, I don't know when he died exactly. I have preferred to celebrate his life, rather than his death. I literally have to pull the newspaper article from the newspaper archives to know what month and day he died. I don't know Mom's date of death either. That they were born and lived as decent human beings is what counts. Tomorrow's Thursday Thirteen will also be about my dad.

Please, do not copy my poems, you few who might be lurking out there. They don't make sense out of context anyway.