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Posted by on Jan 25, 2018 in Poetry | 5 comments



Dear Dad
I understand the second world war was tough.
You were young and didn’t look back until old age.
The petrified the ossified the classified the satisfied
Emerged in a room full of youths and women when you held forth
From memory’s abandoned pulpit before a convocation of crows
The leaves of the trees bleached white, afraid of kamikazes.
I have never touched a headless corpse
Never seen an airplane cartwheel down the deck.
Cerise father, in cardinal coats, law giver in galoshes
I write to find a blank. I can’t conjure what’s not there.
You know the old joke? With all this shit
There must be a pony. Dear Dad, it ended well, given how it began.


  1. I love this, especially the last line.

  2. LOVE this. Read it aloud this morning to Bill. “Wow,” he said.

  3. many many thanks. i’ve written some poems since he died last october.

  4. Please send them to me! (via email)

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