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Poetry Magnum Opus

Father


dansalinger
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dansalinger

The man had lost a son before.

He drown in a terrible accident

in a man made lake that had no

signs warning of the danger.

His young body pulled from the

lake lifeless and limp. His water

logged lungs refusing the air

so desperately offered by a

benevolent stranger.

The next few years were stark and sad.

The anger, the pain, the sorrow

and grief, but mostly the guilt

of mom and dad. The brother

was stoic and buried the pain,

but how many teens could

shoulder such strain. The

parents swooped in protecting

their cub, keeping him safe

from the world trying to give him

the snub. Whatever he did, it was

never his fault. Instead of facing

his problems they taught him to

run.

The world has color but

they see it as grey, for the rest of his

life it’s he against they.

When he had too much to

drink and got into the car, it didn’t

take long and he didn’t get far. He

blew past a stop sign and into a tree,

then called up his dad and said, "come

and get me." He fled from the scene

before the police could arrive

so they couldn’t see

he was too drunk to drive.

What did Daddy do?

He said I’ll protect you and

he got him a lawyer. When

he was charged with hit and run,

a thing that he’d most certainly done,

what does Daddy do? He tells him

to lie. When the evidence doesn’t

fit the lies, what does Daddy do?

He cries conspiracy. The neighbors,

the police, the district attorney and

public defender. All joining

forces to see that little Payton

gets convicted of a crime

he surely did commit. And

cry he did, to his new lawyer, who

obviously wasn’t doing his job. And

when he was done all the bridges

were burned. But most tragically,

not a damn thing was learned.

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Sadly, not just a modern way of things. Acceptance of personal responsibility always a rare event. We can now witness the truth in living color and wrap-around sound everyday. Your condemnation puts us parents there in the middle of guilt and greed, all too human faults. Made me cringe, knowing that we are wired to protect even the worst in our progeny. Real poetry forces us to look inward. Your poem is real.

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