pausing, remembering
the now part of offering
the best percentages to
inconsequential odds,
reliving the moment of firing
away past the hangers
across frozen Jersey airfields
beyond NewYork rockaway oceans
through Eastcoast steel grey
horizons
now resting so peacefully.
sons have made run-on
decisions hundreds of miles away
about their lives
and affecting others
just by being available to
breathe once in a while..
how’s that?
here this son grows melancholy
watching huge sky evaporators
melting us all into salt…
then what remains?
Dad, don’t say too much,
just be funny and strong like
i remember.
eaters are growers,
and you’ve hung in there to
discover
if moving onward with death
straight ahead
motivates some will to live.
i can understand
why you sleep so much now
with allopathic doctors and
burned out nurses
peeking at you through
tranquilized holes in the
walls,
and every meal you struggle
throwing up air,
refusing their hospital
gassed feed
instead of being poisoned!
and people correct you,
people want to buy you a dime-
you can’t even snore
anymore!
i know you are the only one
in my life who understands Nothing-
you have become
a great Zen Buddhist
without speaking a word,
teaching your #1 son with
your heavy eyes closed.
isn’t it the same all over-
people living quicker to die
faster…
you could never survive like
that.
last Sunday at the Barnert
when in need of a crumb of
pleasure,
you forced a grin after a
lonely shave,
asking me to loan you my beard
and i could only watch,
silently,
staring back at your eyes,
till Mom gave you my hand
and you weakly kissed it-
at that moment
the George Washington Bridge
folded itself up inside me
submerging into the Hudson
River!
(and other recollections
flood my mind,
like once when I was 9
you screaming from the stands
”keep your eye on the ball!”
and I did
and got hit by the pitch to
walk in the winning run…
not very easy to do a son a
favor)
Dad, if i were you now,
it’d be that singular long
one-way walk into the mountains
with a waterproof notebook to
send back down
some singular one-way stream…
none of these
"honorable" wars!
still, there remains strength
in your eyes,
your weak heart,
and perhaps you will rise to
see the next
ApolloBomb
blow away another generation,
and your children will be
taught
decisions are not always
necessary:
for what could be more
dignified than surrender?
tonight, the tarmac lights
surrounding these forsaken
Jersey skies
are down to only a constant
yellow and flashing red,
and with your passing
we have no home to return to
no Albert to lean on
no one to fill this empty
space.
yes, we are lying next to you
so tell us a joke, Al,
and give us that warm pursed
smile
reminding us this game of
Being
shouldn’t be rigged so
seriously…
convincing us that even
steadfast and loyal guys like you
eventually wind up
in first place.
Feb 27, 1973
Newark, NJ
(a few months
before my Father’s passing)