MEN DO NOT CRY

What's on my mind? My Poem Today. Dad at 97. If he were still here. His birthday today. I would split a Pedro Domecq with him. But he is not here to call for the "bottoms up". Now that I could drink him under Mom's table, he is not here. All right, I could cede you that prowess, Dad. But now, I could outrace you.

MEN DO NOT CRY

(For Dad, January 9, 2018)

You will tarry, won't you?
Now I know I could outrace you
to that boulder where you left
the bones for Sport, my Sport.
Oh. You are right. I lost him
when I was eight. Ran over.
Uncle Joe told me when I whistled
for him for his supper. I just ate him, he said.

You will make up for my stream of tears.
would you? You laughed. I cried.
A man does not cry. Ever. You chided.
But I am 74, Daddy. I am still crying.
Not for Sport. This time because I can outrun
you. But you have left. The boulder, too, is gone.

--- Your son, Ambit a.k.a. Albert B. Casuga