DAD WAKES UP TO THE BAD NEWS

Dad wakes up to the bad news
I tell him into the mouthpiece.
He drinks his coffee; he puts in his eyes
while the clouds hide behind the moon.
The earth has turned away from the light.
He gets in his car and drives through the August night
toward the dairy farm where he'll begin another
shift of strapping the machines on the cows
and flicking the electrical switch, and later
he may set them out to pasture with the dawn
after they've finished the straw in their stalls.

He works because he has to.
There are crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

He pours a cupful from his thermos and drinks
the black liquid from the red container,
its handle poised at his lip for a sip,
the steam rising toward the rafters of the barn,
and unrolls the paper bag, unwraps
the sandwich Sue made this evening, beginning
to chew on it slowly before he begins
sweeping the cement.

He's worried.

Whose fault is it? I wish I knew
how. If I had
I would have. I would have
let him know
I cared,
that I, that I,
I, yes,
really, I really
loved him. Yes,
I really love him,
and now all I can do
is wait
and hope.
And hope isn't worth a shit.

I've got plenty of time to be alone
since I turned away from people,
and being alone makes a man
think, and thinking,
I have regrets. If I could
do it all over
again, I'd do it
differently. He was his mama's
baby, and now he's gone
the way of his mother.

That woman with her religious crap!
How I loved Clara!
Oh yes, I did.
I loved her, and I endured her
all those years.
But she'd gone beyond the help of love,
and I didn't know what to do.
I didn't know what to say.
I didn't know how to say it.
And I wish I'd known how.

I would have used words to bring her back.
I would have held her small bones in my hands
against the light of the moon and let the wind
blow through them, while her body swayed like a stalk
of milkweed upon mine! But I didn't!
I didn't say a goddamn word!
I didn't push a goddamn word out of my mouth!
Because I was dumb, because I held
the words back when love demanded they flow.

But what's the use of love, if love
isn't allowed to glow in the dark?
What can save us, if love can't?
How many times she turned away
from me from where she lay!
How many times I turned in bed!
I'm a weak man, needing a woman's love.
I admit it. I'm afraid of being alone.
So I told myself someday she'll want
me again and kept silent while she screamed.
But I was just kidding myself!

After I'd drowned her voice with the set,
she slipped from my fingers into the mud.
That wasn't enough to make me believe in God.
Religion didn't save her. So why did he
think it could be different for him?
Who could I tell? Dale has gone crazy.
I've got to spray down the troughs.
What did I do with my cigarettes?
I hope nobody sees me like this.
I just wished I'd talked.
I cuss myself out for not talking.

And I'm a man.
And I'm covering my eyes with my hands.


--David Joseph