I was high in the bow
where I couldn't
hear the tarpon tearing
at the little thread
over the blue
brim of his cap.
My dad sounded over the
motor like bubbles
breaking when he told me: "It's too early
to be here. Son, I'm afraid
the oyster beds are barely
below the surface and our boat
feels too thin for thisblack water."
_________________________________________________
Note: Tomorrow is Father's Day... I wrote this poem over two decades ago, about a fishing trip with my dad that happened two decades before it was written. Dad is 80 years old now. We have not been fishing together since. My father has never seen this poem, because, well... he simply wouldn't like it and he would not see the point. I am having dinner with him tonight.
2 comments:
Show it to him!
I didn't show it to him. He is not mentally sharp enough nowadays to grasp relatively simple communications. It's sad. But I had a great time at dinner with dad, mom, my sister and her kids and husband. I was telling them stories about my memories of my Great-Grandfather from when I spent time with him as a little boy. (Great-grandpa Brown was quite a character.) We were in stitches. Thanks for your input anyway, stranger (?) If dad were more clear-headed, I would show him my poem. It has been years since I felt intimidated by him...and I do love the guy.
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