To Be Told

He knew me bloody
A babe from the womb helpless
Put down the Cutty
Grabbed ma’am, completely selfless

Drove out here kissed his daughter
Held me like Styrofoam brittle
Gave her the blanket he bought her
Dropped back (home) like Y.A. Tittle

Overseas mp, gloves of gold
Shipped Hitler’s hounds to and fro
Made it possible for last poem to be told
Sidearm fired. stormtroop blood salted sea below

Too many sweaty sleeps
Grabbed the bottle tried to forget
Remains how last rock on jetty creeps
Above salinity once high tide has set

Born August 1917 two monthses
Before October revolution of red
Lingers still. long past CCCP dunces
That believed greed wouldn’t poison like lead

Hard and bent like hammer and sickle
Sergeant of vigor reduced to Hee-Haw reruns
Well-traveled. Soul calloused like Tamanend’s thick heel
Cirrhosis and electro-shock therapy weigh tons

Two girl children. One gone
The other, my mother still around managing
Prostate checkups, pacemakers that stole his brawn
Oldwife co-loiters in life’s halls. pill brandishing

Man-machine antiquated like Chevy’s in Cuba
Broken and battered just lying whilst heaving
Skeeving kin because smell from him, dead fish in Aruba
Endurance and fast-twitch muscles gone, dignity not leaving

Dignified pride like a monstrous citadel
Staving off my attempts to sugar talk him into the shower
I don’t want to tell him he stinks, hygiene pitiful
Around geriatric nuisances I shimmy. still that infant in the womb I cower