Father of boys
His black leather shoes
beside his chair, newly reheeled,
insides warm, too large for me to fill
— that old cliche — him snoring,
two vodka tonics in,
fleck of heavy casserole on his chin,
something on the console TV,
Bonanza or Lost In Space.
He never shared his dreams,
what he wanted to be
before life got in the way,
what would be the point
except to create waves.
The closest he came
was at the air museum
when he lingered by the fighter jets,
how he touched their silver skin.
One time my brothers and I
recorded him snoring
and played it back,
volume cranked,
mocking, teasing mercilessly:
the chair still sags
from the weight of him.
17 thoughts on "Father of boys"
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Another one.
Wow!
I really like the way this poem is constructed. Top heavy and the dash line sits there.my eye kept being drawn to it. Again details “how he touched their silver skin.” Are sublime and wonderful.
I lost my dad a couple years ago and this really resonated with me. The selection of detail here is so precise, economical, and evocative. Thanks for this.
He sounds like a quintessential dad of a dad. You have written this so well with great details. I can absolutely picture him falling asleep in front of the TV. And the way you have described him never sharing his dreams but your awareness that he had them is added so perfectly. Also really love the the jets having “silver skin.”
beautifully written – this touched my heart and I swear you were writing about my father. heartfelt.
very nice work here!
reminds me a bit of bukowski’s style.
gorgeous portrait that makes me wonder whether the the father-son relationship has changed for our generation
beautiful and adoring poem!
The poem bears the weight of the man. So nicely done. “What would be the point” caused my eyes to well up
The title implies so much. I agree with others. It’s important that you show the brothers acting up. It brings out the love and the guilt.
Such a beautiful portrait of the father and sons as well. Thanks for sharing Q,
Just love how this captures love and respect and the playfulness of boys.
Gorgeous poem, Bill, ripe with feeling. You delivered big time on the promise of the title.
What they all say. Well done.
“…From the weight of him.”
I love the glimmer we receive of what he dream could have been and “silver skin” as the descriptor.
I love the poem, especially the tenderness of the last stanza.
I agree with what others have said–the tone here is just right, and I really admire how you used rhyme in “two vodka tonics in,/fleck of heavy casserole on his chin,” which reflects a certain complicated tenderness as reflected in your layered conclusion lines
You made me think of my dad, sleeping on the couch after a long day at work, tired as wold sometimes scream to thew heavens, and a difficult boss (his brother) whom, my mother claimed assaulted her. It all came back to when I read this. You’re a master, Bill.