Following David

Or, how the death of a salesman drove me
  To drip ink onto paper again.

My father didn’t know who I was.
  He thought he did; but, didn’t.

He is an example of how we rise to strive and mostly fail.
  How not all Goliaths fall to every David.

David was son, husband, father —
  Never brother,
  Never uncle,
  Rarely friend.

He was a lonely boy, so self-centered that
  He thrust his name into the middle of mine!

Barbara married him and marriage raged
  For decades, until the very end of time!
Seeded, we sprouted from their purgatory
  And scattered our own into the howling winds.

Not one to know anyone too well
  I tried to satisfy the insatiable
Only to fail, too, unsated expectations.

We butted heads, two billy goats gruff
  Never letting time pass on the bridge above us
  Never arbiter nor diplomat, we
Sharpened axes and utensils with our name
  As ancestors peddled wheeled services
  ‘Twixt Saxon villages centuries ago.

Vaingloriously, I took worst of him
  And tried surreptitiously to please him.
I probably never knew him either.

His peace may lie in his shadows
  On the path he has resumed on the other side.

At least, I hope he is blazing a trail there
  Karma enough to taste jubilation
  To finally find happiness after life
  To sleep dreamlessly and loved.

Unknown to you, dear sir, I bid you fare well …

Following David was last updated March 14th, 2017 by Mike Schleif

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