A poem for my Dad

One night I was in a "write off" with a friend, we were practicing some "stream of consciousness" stuff and really throwing it back n forth at each other.  When this little gem came out, it wasn't the best writing of the session, by far not the best, but out of me, its the one that truly had the most meaning behind it. 

I find it kind of soothing and mood setting to have this link playing in the back ground when this is read. 



Before I write the poem here, I want to give some background.  For those of you not aware, I lost my dad several years ago, he was murdered in a hit and run while walking across a street. I could argue that I lost him years before that day, he left our family and was meandering down in Florida, but that's a story for another time.  I at one time had a relationship with him.  Mostly me trying to prove to him that I'm not a "fag" and vying for some type of positive recognition, even after he wrecked us with alcohol.  If you can't beat em, join em I thought at the time.

There I was taking my drunk, barely socially functioning, alcoholic, dad out to the bars near the little shack he holed himself up in after his time of destruction in my mother's house had finally ended.  It was sad sight, this person I thought of as a big strong man, a measly 150 pounds with dark circles and a shrunken face, crying into his whiskey, that I had to buy for him.  Shit, have I told you that I had to bail him out of jail once? Fucking insane, I drove down to the city to get him out of Cook County, but in my infinite "father/son" wisdom, ever seeking his approval, we stopped at a bar on the way home. Yup, a bar, on the way home from bailing him out of jail, for being.... (drum roll please) ... a fucking loser drunk. That's the father/son dynamic for you. Give me some recognition, ANY recognition, here HAVE a fucking drink, "will you like me now!?" my eyes pleaded as I continued to over fill his liver.  Why did I even care at this point? I had already moved out, I was living in Georgia for most of his shenanigans, but when I came back up to Chicago of course I thought, "well, I'll make a difference" ... I'm a fucking idiot.  It wasn't always that way, he always was an abusive asshole, some of you won't ever believe that, but beyond that, we knew that he loved us, and he tried his ass off to provide for us as best as he could, till he just couldn't anymore and his demons took over.  I could point fingers, ask where the help was, but I've done that, I'm past that, it was fruitless and sad.  In the end we could only point the fingers at him.

So that night during the "stream of consciousness" write off, I tapped into that, found a piece of me I didn't know still gave a shit, its not the best writing, but none of this is, my point isn't to show off my writing skills, ever, with any of these posts, but to just be honest, be funny, and have a confession here or there... so here is the poem I wrote for my dad, years after he passed away:

"Cheers"

We went mad together, we grew sad together.
only you knew what we had together.
not much since the body went cold,
I kept waiting for a twitch, give me a sign,
You expected the world, but wouldn't give an inch
I anticipated your movement! a breath of life!

please tell us that everything is FINE!
that key had long been taken from your ignition,
standing in front, I cried out,
Show your hand!  if only I had seen the warning,
been privy to the signs,

read the writings
Paul Simon wrote them on a subway wall
or a tenement hall,
I settled for the calm,
the peaceful blue sky before a rain soaked day,
those clouds moved in swiftly,
ushering in the night's mystery
the executioner's time to dance,
clinking our glasses without much foresight,
that was the last we shared,
was that a lie?
I can barely remember it right...