This is a tribute to my father, who died the next year from a heart attack, which was a complication of Parkinson’s…

Father’s Day

Sitting at the kitchen table (Dad’s desk),
I flick the lighter and linger under each of our cigars.

After the lighting puffs, a couple of long drags,
Rolling the heavy smoke, savoring its texture and flavor,
Letting a little roll out of the mouth,
Pulling it up through the nose,
Finally expelling it deep into our silent conversation.

I’m looking into a mirror that reflects the future–
A mathematically probable future…
I consider that probability as we sip coffee–
He, through Parkinson’s shakes.

I once saw him break a pair of pliers with one hand,
Sheared the pivot pin in two–not for show,
Just getting a grip something that wouldn’t be gripped.
A wave of shakes forces him to save his coffee
By setting it down.

I help him re-light his cigar… another long slow drag
Expelling it into our silent conversation.

We are both fathers, he’s mine.
This is a celebration of that distinction–
But it gives me the opportunity to see my future–
A mathematically probable future.

He has collected uncountable treasures over the years–
“But it’s all worth money, it’s valuable,” –to someone,
Somewhere–maybe…but for all of it, there’s no cash,
No savings–no future.

I consider the collected treasures in my own apartment–
“I’ve hung on to this stuff because I thought I’d enjoy it
When I retired and had time for it; now, it’s too much;
I’m too tired and weak, not interested in it any more.”

Better decide what’s important now–enjoy it now,
Just in case the Future Mirror predicts true.
But then, the future’s in flux.
Nothing is impossible, only mathematically improbable…

Another long slow drag…rolling the heavy smoke,
Savoring its texture and flavor,
Letting a little roll out of the mouth,
Pulling it up through the nose,
Finally expelling it deep into … silence.

–LE – 6/2003