Images
A poem about my childhood. This is not suitable to be read by the crude.
The corner bar, the cigarette pack,
The mother and children alone, the sad little face,
A high church steeple.
The brown bottle, the white cigarette,
The broken family, the quivering little lips,
The quiet church pews.
The neon lights, the flare of a match,
The huddled family, the glistening little eyes,
A stained glass window.
The stumbling steps, the yellow fingers,
The clenched fists, the little black eye,
A head bowed in prayer.
The telltale breath, the cloud of smoke,
The shame, the tear-stained little cheek,
The uplifted cross.
The drunken stupor, the yellow teeth,
Abandonment, the lost little boy,
The nail-scarred hands.
Alcohol, nicotine,
Separation, divorce, the broken little heart,
A still small voice.
Diseased liver, diseased lung, hospital bed;
A coffin and the graveyard, he is dead.
Brown earth, green grass, blue sky;
White clouds, yellow sun, He is alive.
1997-10-04