It was never so green
except for maybe when I was young
and unhurt
before he died
before I lost my Dad

It's hard
to not want to smash
this little bleached Jesus
proudly splayed
proudly flayed
like a bolt of lightning
through my soul

It feeds
off the march of my mind
what comes through it
what comes from it

When the time is right
for reverence
I will open another book than this
for a different dialogue
with myself
with Him

And I wonder
why I do it
the Hole hides
and I forget
until it swallows me
whole
again
as bad as the first time

Last night
I had a 50
and wished for
forty-nine more
or even just eleven
which is what is owed
and what is due

I have no love of eleven
for it likes to hide
in two
here in September
gone in April
nobody's fool my father
never mind the irony
of a blizzard burial
in spring

He knew enough
to say goodbye
for the last time

Adieu

and hello
for the first

I think he was
well met
but I won't know for sure
until eleven years after
my threescore and ten

I hope
I wait

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