Father Flying Home

pausing to remember

the now part of offering

the best percentages to inconsequential odds,

remembering the moment to fire away past the hangers

across frozen Jersey fields

beyond NewYork rockaway oceans

through Eastcoast steel grey horizons

now resting so peacefully,

yet so very far away

sons make run-on decisions about their lives

sometimes hundreds of miles away

while affecting others

just by being available to breath once in a while..

how’s that?

this son grows melancholy

watching the huge sky evaporators,

meticulously

melting us all into salt…

what is there that remains?

Dad, don’t say too much,

be funny and strong like i remember

eaters are growers,

and you’ve hung in there to see

if moving onward with death ahead motivates that will to live

and yes, 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 gas

instead of being poisoned!

people correct you,

people want to buy you a dime…

oh, you can’t even snore anymore!

i know you are the only one who understands Nothing…

you have become

a great Zen Buddhist

without speaking a word-

teaching me with your heavy eyes closed

and it’s the same all over-

people living quicker

to die faster…

you could never survive like that…

then last Sunday at the Barnert came,

when in need of a crumb of pleasure

you grinned after a lonely shave

asking me to loan you my beard

and i could only watch, silently,

staring back your eyes,

till Mom gave you my hand

and you weakly kissed it-

at that moment

the George Washington Bridge completely folded up,

closed today due to our miracle

(now, so many recollections flood my mind,

like once 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…

sure, easy to do the world a favor-

easy to stay away from broken down people-muggers)

Dad, if i were you,

it’d be a long one-way walk into the woods

with waterproof notebook to send back down

some singular one-way stream…

i would have none of these "honorable" wars!

i’m too stubborn and forlorn…

i guess i do take after you…

still, there remains strength in your eyes,

your weak heart,

and perhaps you will rise to see the next

Apollo

Bomb

eat away another generation,

and you will teach your children

we’ve all been fooling ourselves…

there is no “decision” to make,

for nothing can be more dignified than surrender

tonight, the tarmac hanger lights

surrounding these lonesome Jersey skies

are down to only a constant yellow and a flashing red,

and for your #1 son-

there is no place to return to

no one to lean on

no one to fill this empty space next to me

right now, everyone is lying next to you

so tell them a joke, Albert,

give ‘em that slow sweet pursed smile,

and help ‘em realize this game of Being

shouldn’t be rigged so seriously…

convince ‘em that even hard working losers

do eventually wind up

in first place

Feb 27, 1973

Newark, NJ

(months before my Father’s passing)