The Old Man
Whenever I want my dead father near
I play old wartime tunes, I’ll Get By and Paper Doll,
Artistry In Rhythm, Benny Goodman’s Memories Of You.
He listens all alone, with cold beer and radio by candlelight,
filterless Camels, the Old Man observes the wax dripping
down the Michelob bottle in stalagmites of red blue green
black sculptures of Guadalcanal, Halavi Seaplane Base,
as carefully as Talmud commentary, Limehouse Blues or
After You’ve Gone, twirling a lock of his hair,
dodging heart-sized chunks of redglow shrapnel
from an exploding destroyer.
I’ve lived a war, he said,
I hope you’ll never know.
And I was ree-bop swing,
I was Avalon, Let’s Dance.
— Michael Robert White
People’s Poetry accepts poems on any subject, but ones that deal with issues
of local interest are encouraged. Send yours to Books and Poetry Editor Corrine
Frisch c/o Illinois Times, P.O. Box 5256, Springfield, IL 62705, or to
caf1025@aol.com with “People’s Poetry”
in the subject line. (Please limit your submissions to poems of 14 lines or
less.)
This article appears in Feb 19-25, 2004.
