I ended up playing a 3 hour gig Friday with Nothin Fancy, a local southern-rock/country band, and then off and on all day yesterday with several different bands at a benefit. I'm beat. My brain, I think, is somewhere at the Tall Timbers marina. Likely there'll be no new poems from me this weekend.
But I did go back and fix (I hope) the metrical problems in this poem, originally written about 5 years ago:
My father was the strongest man I knew.
One day I found him lying on his back
And stood, grinning, on his right hand — he threw
Me, seventeen, just like an empty sack.
And nearly sixty, carrying railroad ties
All weekend for the garden, the next day
His arm felt strange — perhaps no real surprise —
But he told mom, and mom decided they
Should find a doctor now. While signing forms,
He coughed and fell. Nine times they shocked his heart.
When I got there he'd shrunk, once-mighty arms
All wired and tubed. He took the comforter's part,
Joking "I wouldn't recommend this, son,"
While almost shrugging, "for just anyone."