tears of the father
Really it never knew him. Workboots of the location of the work knew to
the scent of his, Knew the scent of martinis waiting for it in the
country. The sound of its long walk knew: its ankles that become broken,
its keys that confuse.
Sternness of its voice knew, and knew to that
around me he only smiled for the photographies.
The emotions had their place for him.
It reserved the happiness for the
friends, rage for the home. In all he it did and felt he showed to force
and power.
I have seen it shout twice.
Once it cut his hand with a mountain range.
I saw the fabric four inches
of thickness soaked with blood around its hand. I saw the drops of the
blood in the seat of the car.
He conducted himself to the hospital. It
was always in control. But I heard the pain in its voice. It
was stopped in the road and I shouted.
