Image by Shiela SmartMy father lived in a dirty-dish mausoleum,
watching a portable black-and-white television,
reading the Encyclopaedia Britannica,
which he preferred to Modern Fiction.
One by one, his schnauzers died of liver disease,
except the one that guarded his corpse
found holding a tumbler of Bushmills.
"Dead is dead," he would say, an antipreacher.
I took a plaid shirt from the bedroom closet
And some motor oil—my inheritance.
Once I saw him weep in a courtroom—
neglected, needing nursing—this man who never showed
me much affection but gave me a knack
for solitude, which has been mostly useful.
Henri Cole
Posted over on the Writer's Almanac
"Oil & Steel" by Henri Cole from Pierce the Skin
2 comments:
My Dad was just plain horrid...but your Dad wasnt- he just didn't know how to be a Dad
oh- and I am sorry your Dad didn't get the help he needed at the end
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