zodiac30 Dec 2005

You've admitted to being sloppy about grammar, so I'll do it for you:

Memoirs of a miner's son


Anvil-eyed, my Father glanced at me.
"Dress me well for Karen", he said.

He drew his breaths like a hero's sword
As I brushed his hair with still hands.

This man would leave for work golden
And return a shadow who left my lips black,
reading me Whitman as I slept
and living poetry each day I woke.

My Father was Sicilian;
The miners called him Brando,
My Mother called him Darling,
And I just called for him.
And he'd always return to me
With something carved from coal.

He had no last words for me,
Just a smile and a squeeze of my hand,
And then he was twenty three again
In a Daimler with Karen,
Driving to Loch Lomond
With forty two shillings,
Two smiles and two rings,
And her Father's wrath.


Good. All-around good.