Tag Archives: father

The Old Post Office; Door County; October 2017

It was the faded wall paper that brought him back to me
It was the cheery cherry wall paper that brought me back to him
It was that first glance thought the pristine picture window of the old post office
That brought me back to the man I aspired to be
We ended up there on accident – as was our wont back then
I ended up here today by accident – as is my wont these days
I don’t know if I have lived up to what he expected of me
I do know I still have time to navigate the course and make him proud of me

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My Blue Body

My father brought my brother a beer
They left my blue body on the moldy mattress
I tried to get up but I couldn’t
They made up funny jokes about me being lazy
They walked away smiling

Sixty-one Years In The Real World

I saw God in my father’s eyes
On the white sands of Mexico
Standing on the shore in long jeans and sandals

Sixty-one years in the real world
Running in rivulets down his golden face

Sixty-one years in the real world
Bursting the seams of his strong red heart

Sixty-one years in the real world
Calloused into his ruddy hard hands

Sixty-one years in the real world
Behind his wire rimmed glasses

Sixty-one years in the real world
And I am only half the way there

He Loves to Hear You Sing

He’s been asking for you
But no one was able to find you
We searched in all of the usual places
But they said you weren’t there
He says that he needs a pack of Camels
Maybe a Schlitz Malt Liquor tall boy
He said he wants you boys to sing for him
Maybe San Antonio Rose
No Wildwood Flowers – definitely Wildwood Flowers
And sing it loud boys
He wants to hear it loud
Because he loves to hear you sing
Boy does he love to hear you sing

Two Torpedo Sandwiches and Jackie DeShannon

We used to go for these long drives
My father and I
No destination – just long drives to nowhere
He spoke endlessly of his youth
I listened to each sliver of breath
Pink nosed cows in pastures fluttered by
The window of his large silver Chevy
We would always find a bar in a small town
A bar that served Torpedo sandwiches on crusty white rolls
And he would give me a quarter for the juke
Jackie DeShannon
What the world needs now
I played that old song on every juke I found

At the Seneca Restaurant – at Christmas lunch
My grandmother almost stopped giving me quarters
She knew what song I was going to play

But with my father it was always the same thing
Two Torpedo sandwiches; one beer and one coke
And he always gave me a quarter for the juke
And I played that old song – every time

What the world needs now is two torpedo sandwiches
And Jackie DeShannon and my father and an old Chevy