My Father, My Aerialist

“And he forged on the shield . . . wedding feasts . . .

and the young men came dancing . . .” – The Iliad

What money he made, he hid inside his jacket pocket

And came back home to smoke the cheapest weed he found

In Lackawanna—he’d leave to buy Rolling Rock

With fresh blue cash from Ruth’s pawned locket.

Does everyone burn to know how strong their father

Was when they were young or am I lonely as a flag

Above an ocean, flown in warning for those approaching?

On days that end in day, I strut for cash and lie

Camouflaged in a leaf-suit; distance and proximity

Are both not my enemies. I want to know where you are

Or are you hiding from me now? Among my friends,

Among the trees, along the beachside avenues where sago

Palms cookout the breeze and bob with barley—let’s go

Someplace else. I swear to God, tomorrow I am

Getting up early.…