April 5, 2015 § Leave a comment

Kiwi Oxblood
paste &

          my mother had 
          cut one into strips 
          for the buffing
on the floor before 
Davey & Goliath 
lilies on table
a spot of chocolate 
(to be covered
by a clip-on
just before being
corralled into
the Impala)
then off to hear
the tale retold
   with bell ringers and chorus
and a stop for more baskets 
(ones my mother bought and planted around her fathers house)       on the way
I could sense in her
joy        the
aspect of
rebirth    not that I could tie that phrase to what
I sensed,
but the mornings pageantry 
seemed to leave an
impression of floating 
Dad, well,
he was harder
to read
unless it came to
fishing or coaching
little league
for him
spring was a rototiller
lawn chair evenings and
a 16 ouncer or two
before cooling
of the air drove
him inside
the first Sunday after the full moon came late that year
so he lucked out
it was warm 
even after sundown 
so the house was quiet
when I heard him come in
and laugh about
something with mom
I’m sure I gave a quick security check under the plastic grass
before I fell asleep 
I knew
     there were
scoundrels about
the sanctity of the season
(c) 2015 Fred Whitehead

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