NECESSARY EVILS
g.a. scheinoha
My father was all the best
a Bohemian
can be
and sometimes,
the worst.
Like the time
he flung Wettstein;
a smart ass
who’d been pelting
him most of a day
with cold water,
into a vat
down at
Stella Cheese.
Only to hear
the man was killed
later the same day,
cocksure to the
last, trying to outrun
a train.
Still, I prefer not
to remember
Dad for his
slow storm into
sudden thunderous
slavic temper.
He was, after all,
like most of us;
a mix
of many
traits.
A gifted storyteller
whose talent lay not
in the creating
but the drawing
together of many threads
into a tightly
woven tale.
A Goliath among Davids
whose shadow, to this day,
casts a pall
my size 12’s
in full motion
could never fill.
Besides, what
steaming bowl
of booyah
contains
ripest veggies
and leanest
chicken
without an
occasional
bone?