Father




Part I

A fathers dying wish for his son (later he lived)


His smile turns to mercury
then slides down his face,

His own body turns him in
for thirty pieces of platelet.

My child's hand strokes
my father’s rag doll fist.

With eyes closed his genie
asks to me to set him free.

I rub his veins even harder
hoping I can release him,

from the cooling down of death
or maybe just life's burning up.

Either way he slowly opens
his garotted mouth to speak

but he is a resident of Babel now
dropping every piece of alphabet

I nod as if I understand his wishes
and he smiles hoping I never do.



Part II



My Father's Walking


Now he wears a slow silver shocked look
Carries a wooden sceptre in his soft grip,

Burns his bridges behind his fiery cataracts
And steps like an iron man in a world of rust.



John G.Hall(C)2006