.
as my father sleeps the world goes on
his work boots are by the door
he left them there unlaced
the right run down at the heel
the left’s toe scuffed
his blue shirt hangs on a hook
wrinkled below the belt line
where every morning
its tails were tucked
there’s no forgiveness in pasts
just now and here, defeat
is the hardest epiphany
the tongues of his
black boots say
.
by Jim Culleny
4/13/14
.
Drawing: my father, James T. Culleny, 1918-1980,
from a photo taken the last time I saw him
Blink 