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 —
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 …