I got some good advice and made some changes. Anything newly broken is my fault.
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.
At fifty-nine he carried railroad ties
All weekend for the backyard garden border
And said, "My arm feels strange." No real surprise,
But something frightened Mom. She gave an order:
"We 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 tubed and wired. He took the comforter's part,
Joking "I wouldn't recommend this, son,"
While almost shrugging, "for just anyone."
I've put drafts for this, starting with the poem I once thought was done, at the Draft House here.